


Bad Date

by Violet_Jones



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Depression, Enemies to Lovers, First Dates, Humor, M/M, Meet-Ugly, Original Character(s), Recreational Drug Use, cringe comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-04-22 00:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14296791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violet_Jones/pseuds/Violet_Jones
Summary: Mandy sets Ian & Mickey up on a blind date. It doesn't go well.





	1. Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really trying to finish writing _An Ever-Fixed Mark_ , but I had to run with this idea I got an immediate writing inspiration for, based on an irl friend's FB post about his date's unseemly behavior. Dedicated to @lan-jev, just cuz she didn't believe in this premise at all and I wanna prove her wrong.

**IAN**

  


Ian walks into the diner about 5 minutes before 8 PM, surveying the space for the guy he was there to meet, and finding no sign of him. His friend, Mandy, had sent him exactly one photo when she’d been mounting her campaign to try and get him interested in dating her brother, and knowing what he looked like was really the only thing he knew about him at all, aside from his profession. Mandy hadn’t been forthcoming with a lot of details, claiming that Mickey ‘didn’t sound good on paper,’ but that she just knew that they could really click if Ian could get him to ‘let his guard down a little.’

Ian could barely let his own guard down for himself these days, so he’d tried to explain what a horrible idea it probably was, and that maybe two people who weren’t into letting people in right now weren’t the best match ever, but she could not be dissuaded. She was hellbent on the two of them getting together. Ian was pretty sure that they were just the only two gay guys she was close to, and so from her selfish, myopic perspective, them being a thing would be like sunshine, and rainbows, and all things that are good and make sense in the world.

He was dubious about her ability to see clearly on the subject, but since he had nothing better to do with his time, he swept his doubts under the rug, and decided to just fucking go for it. If it sucked, his life would just continue as it was, no harm, no foul.

As soon as he’s seated in a booth, he becomes fidgety. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and he wonders if he should order a drink now or not. Should he look at the menu, or wait? Should he play on his phone, or would that make him seem disinterested? It was like he’d never been out with anyone ever, or done anything at all, with anyone, at any time. He felt like an alien who’d just crash landed and wandered into a heavily populated human area, trying to mimic what he saw around him so that he’d fit in and not be spotted for what he was.

_‘Break-ups fucking suck.’_

Every time he thinks he’s finally totally over everything, some small memory or fear triggers an avalanche, and the pain and rejection rushes back to the forefront. And then he acts. . . like _this_. All weird and meek, and not like who he really is. He’s like the broken version of himself, or the abandoned version. . . the not-good-enough version who never thinks he’ll ever measure up for anyone ever again.

_‘Gah! It’s been fucking months. Months!’_

Ian’s so ready to move on from the useless wallowing. And so is everyone around him. He sees the looks they try to hide, and hears the whispers they try to keep low. Everyone is sick of his endless misery and moping.

That was his other reason for agreeing to this. . . getting his sister, Fiona, off his back for five seconds. This way, he could at least say, ‘Look! I tried! I did something. Now gimme a goddamn break.’

He looks at his watch. 5 minutes past.

He grits his teeth and brushes a hand through his hair. Nothing to worry about or anything. Five minutes is nothing. It’s not like _late_ , or whatever. He’s the idiot who had to be early.

Any minute now.

Hopefully.

He wonders if Mandy gave her brother his number. Maybe Ian should’ve asked her for his and texted him first. Fuck. That would’ve made sense. This was like, aside from the whole picture thing, a completely blind date. Which is probably really weird for this day in age. They definitely should’ve already talked a little. At least by private message, or even by fucking email. It’s weird that they grew up in the same neighborhood, but never even met each other.

He’s tapping his foot now. He catches himself doing it, and rolls his eyes, setting his shoulders back and making his posture straight, pressing the soles of his shoes down firmly into the linoleum. He takes a deep breath and picks up his phone.

10 minutes past.

Fuck.

If he gets stood up for a blind date that he didn’t even wanna fucking go on in the first place, he’s gonna be pissed. He may even have to stop being friends with Mandy over it. He’ll never live down the humiliation.

He asks for some water when the waitress walks by. Two, so it doesn’t look dickish if Mickey gets there and he’s thirsty or whatever. Even if he is officially _late_ now. Maybe he’ll have a good reason.

At 15 minutes past, he’s definitely sucked up at least half of the large water in front of him, slurping on the straw, while mindlessly toggling between different open phone apps, wondering how long before he’ll give up, order a sandwich to go, and get the hell out of Dodge.

He’s not even paying attention when there’s a loud thud and a squeak of vinyl indicating that someone has thrown themself down into the seat of the booth across from him.

He startles, releasing the chewed up straw from between his teeth, eyes wide as they settle on the decidedly unimpressed face of Mandy’s brother.

He figures he’ll say something first, since Ian’s been sitting here for over 20 minutes by himself like some kind of asshole, but literally all he gets is stony silence.

_‘Okayyyyy.’_

“Hi,” he says hesitantly. “Um, Mickey, right?”

Mickey rolls his eyes. “Um, right,” he mimics sarcastically.

‘ _What the fuck?’_ “Uhhh, okay then. I’m Ian.”

“Yeah, man, I kinda figured that one out, since you’re the only pasty carrot top sittin’ in here alone.”

_‘Really, Mandy?’_ “Right. Uhhh, I got you a water. I got thirsty while I was. . . waiting.”

“They got beer here?” Mickey asks brusquely, picking up his menu, and hiding his face behind it.

Ian’s mouth is still agape. He cannot believe _this_ is how this is going down. Barely thirty seconds have passed, and it’s already the most excruciating encounter of his life.

_‘How?’_

Ian sticks his phone in the pocket of his bomber jacket and picks up his menu, hoping that they do in fact have real drinks, because he’s pretty sure he’s gonna need one or four to get through whatever this ends up being. Turns out it is only beer and wine, so he picks something with a high alcohol content, and peruses the main courses.

The dead silence engulfing the table is only interrupted by the intermittent tones of Mickey’s phone receiving notifications.

A few more minutes go by, and Ian’s pretty sure that he’s read and re-read every item listed, but he’s known what he’s getting the whole time. He wants to bang his head against the tabletop, but somehow refrains.

Luckily, their server comes by the table at last, and Ian makes sure to emphasize that he wants the _largest_ possible beer they have, even though he knows they only come in one size, to go along with his club sandwich and sweet potato fries.

Mickey orders a bacon double cheeseburger with egg on it, and fries smothered in queso, and the cheapest beer on the menu. Ian and the girl waiting on them exchange a look, and he’s glad for that small lifeline. At least he has this one stranger as an ally for the next. . . however long this would take.

With the menus removed as a buffer, Ian blinks across the table at Mickey wondering if he’ll try to make any kind of conversation at all with him, while also trying to think of anything to say that isn’t along the lines of ‘what the fuck is your problem?’

“So,” Ian begins again, “Mandy’s pretty awesome. We’ve become pretty good friends.”

She’s literally the only commonality he can think of aside from like, talking about Chicago or whatever, and who the hell wants to bring that up? Might as well talk about the weather.

Mickey snorts, scratching his brow with his thumb, “She’s kind of a fuckin’ bitch, in my experience, but whatever floats your boat.”

Whatever attempt at a strained sort of smile had been sort of teetering on the brink of blooming on Ian’s face is smothered by yet another total shutdown.

“Yeah, she is kind of on my shit list right about now,” Ian mutters under his breath.

“What’s that?” Mickey asks purposely loud.

“Nothing.”

Mickey’s phone pings again, lighting up the screen where it sits on the table.

Their eyes meet, and Ian studies him, pursing his lips.

“You lookin’ at my hair?” Mickey asks aggressively.

Ian’s brow furrows, taken aback. “Ummm, no?”

“Cuz I already know it looks like shit, man.”

He doesn’t understand. It looks like a normal haircut. “It looks fine to me.”

“Pfft, you would think that,” Mickey mumbles lowly.

Yet another pregnant pause expands between them.

“So. . . Chicago,” Ian ends up saying, and he wants to die.

“Huh?”

“We’re from the same side of town. I wasn’t really friends with Mandy in high school, but we sorta knew each other in passing. Never saw you around, though.”

Mickey looks at him like he’s simple or something. “Yeah, well, big city.”

“Right.” Should he ask him about his job? Fuck, he needs to just give up already. “So, you’re in sanitation, Mandy said.”

“Yeah. I’m a fuckin’ garbage man, you got a problem with that?”

Ian holds his hands up placatingly. “I was just asking about your job.”

“Yeah, well. . . ain’t much to say about trash, is there?”

Jesus fucking Christ.

The phone pings again, rattling this time, and Ian looks over at it.

“You seem pretty popular tonight,” he observes, without adding, ‘fuck knows why.’

“What can I say? Guess it’s my sparkling personality.”

“Doubtful,” Ian says softly to himself again, while looking down at his own hand, studying his nails, which he’s never done in his life.

“You got somethin’ to say, gingerbread? Speak up, I can’t hear ya.”

Mickey’s phone lights up again, and Ian can clearly see that the messages coming in are all Woofs from the Scruff app. Other dudes are literally crashing his terrible date.

“You need to get that?” Ian asks in what most people would recognize as an _are-you-fucking-kidding-me_ tone of voice.

He watches as Mickey glances over at the screen, gives some semblance of an amused smile, and picks the fucking phone up to begin typing a reply to someone.

Un- _fucking_ -believable.

He’s literally on a fucking set-up date with a stranger who won’t say two fucking civil words to him, and even just getting those is like pulling teeth, but who has no problem flirting with other guys he’d apparently much rather be out with, right in his fucking face.

He isn’t just going to stop speaking to Mandy, he’s going to have to actually murder her.

Even though Mickey is obviously the worst, Ian has to wonder what exactly it is about himself that makes him so instantly unappealing. Does the depression just radiate off him in waves, making him look like total shit at first sight? He hadn’t been able to even say enough words to make him sound like a douchebag, or give the wrong impression about his personality or interests. There’s just no opening even slightly ajar indicating that Mickey has any interest whatsoever in even trying to find out.

He’s about to get up and just walk out, when the food arrives. He curses the rapidity of the table service for the first time in his life.

He exhales loudly, and smiles too big at his server out of gratitude. He’d rather be on a date with her right now, and he has zero interest in the female species in that way. He’d happily make out with a haggard great-grandma to get out of this right now.

He picks his sandwich up as soon as the plate hits the table and takes a giant bite, determined to scarf the whole meal down as quickly as possible, and put an end to his suffering.

He can’t believe he spent so much fucking time nervously anticipating. . . _this_.

  


**(3 hours earlier)**

  


_Ian took his time in the shower, which was something he rarely did these days. He let the warm water beat down on him for a good ten minutes before he even started soaping himself, hoping Fiona wouldn’t stick her head in the bathroom and yell at him for being wasteful. He even had the fleeting thought of possibly having sex if things went well, and took just that little bit of extra care as he washed his nooks and crannies. He even used Fiona’s conditioner on his hair, making him smell slightly minty._

_He dried himself off, wrapped the towel around his hips, and stared into the mirror above the sink. He rarely looked at himself these days. The bags under his eyes weren’t too bad, and he wasn’t fixating on the dumb side of his chin that was bigger than the other. He flashed his teeth at his reflection, grimacing at the underbite he’d always hated. His freckles were pretty faded at the moment, on account of his not getting out in the daylight much, so that was a plus._

_He walked out of the steamed up bathroom and into the single corner bedroom he now occupied, pulling the accordion door shut, and flopping down onto his bed, still damp._

_He closed his eyes and exhaled noisily, wondering for the umpteenth time if he should cancel tonight’s ridiculous plans he was being forced into by his sister and his friend. He’d 100% only agreed to it because they’d guilted him into it._

_“Knock, knock,” Fiona said through the flimsy barrier, before pulling it back._

_Ian’s eyes snapped open. “Jesus, Fi. What if I was naked in here?”_

_Fiona rolled her big brown eyes at him. “So what if you were? I wiped your ass until you were like 6 years old, I think I can handle seeing your balls now.”_

_Ian sighed heavily. “I hate this fucking house sometimes.”_

_“Well, I love you. How you feelin’?”_

_He wanted to groan in frustration. She was always asking him that these days. And he was always lying when he said he was fine, but by varying degrees._

_“Nervous, I guess.”_

_“That’s normal. Everyone gets nervous before a first date.”_

_“Um, I really didn’t used to. Not that I ever really dated anyone before banging. God, Jordan is the only guy I really went on actual, real dates with.”_

_It’d been four months of this shit. Four months of down-in-the-dumps, celibate, brooding, lonely, dejectedness._

_“There’s nothing wrong with that,” his sister assured. “You’re young. You have your whole life ahead of you, and plenty of other guys still to come. It’s just a date. No big deal. If he’s great, awesome. If he sucks, so what? You’ll try again when you’re ready.”_

_‘When he’s ready.’ When would that be, exactly? He had by no means anticipated falling apart so spectacularly over one boyfriend leaving him for someone else. One boyfriend he’d had for a grand total that didn’t even sum up to two full years. But Jordan had been the only person Ian had ever let in that was his own age, and he’d latched onto him with a fervor he couldn’t have foreseen. He’d just gotten sucked into it slowly over time until his brain had been confused into thinking that they were the real deal. The lasting kind of deal. Maybe even the settle-down-forever deal._

_Ian would laugh at himself over those deeply disturbing thoughts if they didn’t still make him wanna cry when they lingered in his mind too long._

_So yeah, Ian didn’t deal well with rejection apparently. Not well at all. And sorry if he wasn’t fucking anxious to set himself up to let some other asshole manipulate him into thinking he was in love only to bail on him for greener pastures at the first sign of trouble._

_So, ready? No, he probably wasn’t ready. He may never be ready._

_He couldn’t even bring himself to get laid, and that had certainly never been an issue before. The thought of Boystown scared the fuck out of him, because what if the worst happened, and he ran into_ them _? He'd probably dissolve into a pile of dust, blow away on the wind, and scatter all over the dirty streets of Chicago. That was not an option._

_And fucking hook-up apps? Grindr, Tinder, Scruff, fucking OK Cupid. . . he’d put up profiles on all of them for like a week last month, and deleted them all when he realized that given the chance to sit back behind a keyboard and be discerning based on the superficialities of looks and body, and the immediate judgmental turn off of any one wrong word, like, or answer to a multiple choice question, Ian could easily write off every single remotely attractive or interesting guy that he matched with._

_So when his relatively new, but fast friend, Mandy Milkovich, had insisted on setting him up on a casual date with her brother, it seemed like something he didn’t really want to do, but also like an appropriate first dipping of the toes back into the water of dudes. The guy looked cute, and a little rough and tumble, but in like a hot way. And maybe Mandy was right, and they’d hit it off. It could be like a rebound thing._

_“Whatever,” he said. “You wanna pick out some clothes for me?”_

_Fiona laughed. "I haven’t picked out an outfit for you since you were like 10.”_

_“Yeah, well, I have no game in me right now. Just make me look good, but not like I’m trying too hard.”_

_“Ah, the magic sweet spot. Fine, but I’m not ironing it for you.”_

_“Fionaaaaa,” he whined._

_She did end up ironing it for him._

  


And after all that overthinking, here he is. With _this_ guy. This total fucking miserable prick of a guy, worth no amount of agonizing or expectation.

It’s like some kind of joke. Someone he trusted had stolen his fucking mojo, and he was finally trying to get it back, and this new guy just wanted to kill it dead completely.

Well fuck that.

He shoves several fries into his mouth and chews obnoxiously, throwing back two large swallows of beer, and staring Mickey down.

“Your sister should really consider a career as a matchmaker. She’s obviously meant for that line of work,” says Ian, taking another large bite out of his three-tier sandwich, cheeks bulging out like a chipmunk.

It doesn’t get a smile out of Mickey, but it does seem to leave him somewhat confused and incapable of a comeback.

He swallows another big gulp of beer, then burps loudly. He figures he’ll beat Mickey to the punch, because this is the obvious next step in whatever little act he’s putting on for Ian. He’d ordered the biggest, messiest thing on the menu, and had an air about him like he owned the place, and fuck your manners and polite society.

“I’ll let her know you think so,” Mickey finally replies.

“No need,” says Ian through another mouthful of fries. “I’ll definitely be telling her personally.”

Ian sticks his hand up to beckon the waitress, a move he doesn’t really like pulling, but he really needs to get her attention like yesterday.

“What can I get you?” she asks, approaching the table.

“A to-go box, please,” he answers with a genuine smile. “Just for mine. And I’ll love you forever if you make it snappy.”

“Sure thing.” She smiles back a little apologetically, casting an uncomfortable glance across at his date.

Mickey’s starting to look slightly shaken, but Ian just keeps shoving food into his mouth until the box is in front of him, and then he starts placing everything on his plate into it.

“Look. . .”

  


||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

  


MICKEY

  


It’s nearly 20 minutes past the time he’s supposed to meet this guy when Mickey arrives at the remodeled-to-look-old-fashioned diner his sister had sent him to. He hadn’t really meant to be late, but he also doesn’t care much about any of it, especially after the day he’s had. He’s not even fully sure why he keeps putting on these charades, as if he’s a person who goes on _dates_. He knows what kind of material he is, and boyfriend cloth, he ain’t.

There’s a long window wrapping all the way around the corner building, making it easy to see inside. He does a quick scan, and immediately spots Mandy’s friend. Ian. Of course he’s even hotter in person, which makes this that much more farcical, really. He watches him for a moment, as he scrolls through his phone, sucking down water, tapping his finger on the table, looking anxious as fuck. His sister should’ve told him not to get nervous over the prospect of Mickey. It was obvious that the guy could do way better, and he was just slumming it. Probably doing Mandy some kinda favor, because she wouldn’t get off of Mickey’s ass about his lack of ever taking anyone seriously.

To say that Mickey was reluctant to accept his sister’s set-up is an understatement. She’d been making his home life a living hell recently, in an effort to make some twisted point that he still didn’t really understand. What was it to her if Mickey wanted to spend his life hopping on dicks and never bothering to get to know the people they were attached to? It didn’t affect her in any way. Yet, she demanded he _try_. So they’d made a deal. He’d go on three real dates with three different guys, and she would give him a month’s worth of free drinks at the bar she worked at, and agree to shut up about his romantic life, or lack thereof, forever.

The date he’s arriving at now, mercifully, is date number three. Dates number one and two did not go so well. He had at least kind of talked to the other two dudes first, because they’d set them up through Scruff, but Mickey had since switched his seeking preferences back to casual sex only. Having exchanged a few sentences first did nothing to make the actual meetings any less painfully awkward.

Mickey is not good at talking to strangers. Not even a little bit. He has this deeply ingrained defensiveness that is constantly set to 11, and that can manifest itself in all kinds of brash ways, sometimes intentional, sometimes not. Add that quality to the fact that he’s been having the shittiest month, week, and day ever, and it pretty much amounts to this being a disaster waiting to happen.

He studies Ian’s attractive, unsettled demeanor a few seconds longer, takes a deep breath, and heads inside.

_‘Poor bastard doesn’t know what he’s in for.’_

As he approaches the shiny red booth, Ian’s chewing on his straw and toggling between screens so fast on his phone, there’s no way he can actually be paying attention to anything on it. Mickey drops onto his seat with more force than he’d meant to, causing Ian’s head to snap up, eyes comically big, straw falling from the grasp his straight white teeth have on it.

Mickey does his best to keep his face impassive, because actually, Ian is incredibly attractive up close, and it’s kind of freaking him out. Mandy’d told him that Ian was from their neighborhood, but nothing about him looked it, so maybe she lied just to nudge him into accepting her fix-up.

Ian is gazing at him expectantly, but everything Mickey’d thought about opening with kind of leaks right out of his head. Not that he’d really come up with anything more interesting than like, ‘Sup?’

“Hi. Um, Mickey, right?”

Ian sounds so. . . fucking timid and tentative. Not like Mickey’s type at all.

He really can’t help it when he rolls his eyes. “ _Um, right._ ”

Okay, he probably didn’t need to also make fun of the first words the guy ever said to him, but it was just Mickey’s natural style. His confrontational idle setting.

“Uhhh, okay then. I’m Ian.”

“Yeah, man, I kinda figured that one out, since you’re the only pasty carrot top sittin’ in here alone.” Maybe this guy was also stupid. Why would Mandy set him up with some dumb prettyboy for anything other than a quick bang?

“Right. Uhhh, I got you a water. I got thirsty while I was. . . waiting.”

Jesus, the small talk is already suffocating him. This is exactly what had made the first two dates he went on some of the worst times of his life. He really can’t handle or do chitter-chatter.

“They got beer here?” he tosses out, taking cover behind his menu like a coward.

If this dude doesn’t hate him already, he probably will soon. Shit, he should’ve said something about showing up late. Even if he didn’t really ultimately care, because Ian wouldn’t like him anyway, he could’ve at least said, ‘My bad,’ and made up some shit about traffic, or whatever.

_‘Oh well.’_

If someone were to mute the background noise of the diner around them, you’d be able to hear a pin drop, because neither of them have said anything for at least two full minutes.

But then, Mickey’s phone starts pinging with notifications. It isn’t the tone he’d set for texts, but rather the one he’d set for Scruff. It’s that time of night when people start getting frisky on him.

Shit. That’s probably bad form, but then Mandy had said something about making himself seem more desirable. Other guys wanting to get on him would cut straight to the point, right?

A young chick comes over to take their order, after an uncomfortable stretch of silence has passed.

“I’ll have the club sandwich with sweet potato fries, and your draft IPA in the largest possible glass you have back there,” Ian orders.

So either he wants to get drunk, or he knows this is going just as poorly as Mickey does.

Mickey decides, fuck it, and orders the most ridiculously over-the-top thing he can, that he knows it gonna be delicious, and the $2 High Life they have on tap for cheapos like him.

Ian and the waitress share a blatant look of disapproval at his choices, which makes Mickey wanna do something genuinely distasteful, since his food decisions are the least objectionable thing about him, thank you very fucking much.

With the food order put in, there’s nothing left as a distraction from actually interacting with one another, and Mickey digs deep for questions he could possibly ask to seem interested in this milquetoast dude, but he’s got nothing. His sister already told him he’s an EMT, so he has priorities that Mickey would never entertain, like actively helping people in peril. No thanks. Probably fed some kind of superiority complex. Makes Ian feel like some hero, better than the average Joe, which is what Mickey more closely resembles.

“So,” says dull Superman, “Mandy’s pretty awesome. We’ve become pretty good friends.”

Jesus, if this is the only topic of conversation they can drum up between them, they’re definitely in trouble.

He snorts derisively. “She’s kind of a fuckin’ bitch, in my experience, but whatever floats your boat.”

And just when it looked like Ian was going to actually crack a smile at him, his mouth contorts back into a barely disguised frown.

“Yeah, she is kind of on my shit list right about now,” Ian murmurs.

Mickey hears him clearly, but pretends like he doesn’t. “What’s that?” he says louder than necessary.

_‘Maybe that crotch has got some actual fire in it after all.’_

“Nothing.”

_‘Or not.’_

Mickey’s phone goes off again, and he meets Ian’s nice green eyes directly, which unsettles him a little. He feels like he’s being examined too closely for his liking. 

“You lookin’ at my hair?” He accuses tersely.

Ian’s face scrunches up kind of cutely, if he’s being honest. “Ummm, no?”

“Cuz I already know it looks like shit, man.” He could kill that fucking barber Mandy sent him to. She really was dead set on ruining his whole life lately.

“It looks fine to me.”

“Pfft, you would think that,” he answers almost inaudibly.

Things go quiet again, and apparently the only think Red can think of to come back with is, “So. . . Chicago.”

“Huh?”

To his credit, he does make a bit of a face.

“We’re from the same side of town. I wasn’t really friends with Mandy in high school, but we sorta knew each other in passing. Never saw you around, though.”

What is he supposed to say to that? _‘Yes, you are correct, we did not know each other before.’_ “Yeah, well, big city.”

“Right.” Ian grimaces. “So, you’re in sanitation, Mandy said.”

Great, now he’s asking him about the day job that most guys look down on him for. “Yeah, I’m a fuckin’ garbage man, you got a problem with that?”

“I was just asking about your job,” Ian replies with his hands up defensively.

“Yeah, well. . . ain’t much to say about trash, is there?”

Mickey’s phone dings and vibrates against the table, catching both of their attention.

“You seem pretty popular tonight,” Ian says tightly. He’s definitely beyond annoyed with Mickey now.

“What can I say?” He completely hates him just like Mickey knew he would. “Guess it’s my sparkling personality.”

“Doubtful,” Ian mutters, studying his nails.

Okay, there’s some fight in there somewhere, and it kind of makes him want to find out just how much Ian would take before it bubbled over and came bursting out of him. What would it take for this put together guy to go into beast mode?

He has to needle him a bit. “You got somethin’ to say, gingerbread? Speak up, I can’t hear ya.”

His phone lights up, and Ian can definitely see where his notifs are coming from exactly.

“You need to get that?” Ian asks. He’s finally acting downright offended.

Mickey sees the latest woof is from a dude he’s been trying to get on for weeks. He can’t help the smirk, and yeah, maybe he’s being a purposeful brat by picking up the phone and replying to that message now, rather than later.

He chances a glance up at Ian, and his face is deepening all kinds of red. He’s even looking over at the exit, like he’s contemplating ditching him before their dinner even arrives.

Mickey’s just typed out a to-the-point ‘Wanna fuck?’ to his Scruff match, when the food gets placed before him. He looks up just in time to see Ian smiling sweetly at the girl serving them, and he feels a twinge of guilt for making this night so hellish for him. It really isn’t his fault that they don’t go together, and that Mickey hates going out, and people in general. The guy had obviously put some effort into his appearance, and had probably even been excited to meet him. Mandy probably fed him all kinds of lies, and if she’d already told him what he did for a living, and he’d still been into meeting him, maybe he wasn’t as much of a dick as he’d assumed. Maybe some good-looking gay guys weren’t total bitch-ass pricks about blue-collar work that didn’t involve firemen.

He chomps down on a couple of fries, dripping with cheese sauce.

  


**(2 hours earlier)**

  


_Mickey enjoyed bathing more than he ever had before, now that he smelled like actual trash day in, day out. He used different soaps and scrubbers to get that layer of grime feeling off his body, and made Mandy do a sniff test to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. It was a kind of paranoia with a life of its own. Even though he’d grown accustomed to the acrid smell of waste constantly traveling behind him on his shifts, he longed to have everything outside of work reeking of pleasant aromas. He’d become hooked on scented candles and incense like some new age hippy dipshit._

_He couldn’t wait for this horrible day to be over. It really was the cherry on top of the shit sundae that had been the whole week, which had kicked off with their water heater busting. Being old as balls and on its last legs, they’d been forced to replace it, rather than repair it, which had put a significant dent in his meager savings. That day had also entailed the worst hook-up he’d had in ages, which had resulted in an orgasm more mediocre than his least enthusiastic, cursory, solo wanks when he wasn’t even feeling it, but had nothing better to do. And that had been just a day after his last date, which had been a boring failure worse than the first. A couple days later, he’d nearly gotten arrested for some shit he didn’t even do, when he’d happened to be around the corner from a recent robbery and beatdown. Tony Markovich had spotted him, and decided he needed to be questioned and harassed, because his presence couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. They’d threatened to take him down to the station for resisting, even though they knew damn well they had no evidence at all to hold him on._

_The next day, he’d finally given into Mandy’s prodding, and gone to cut his longish hair for the first time in ages. Mickey’d given the guy as precise of instructions as he was capable of giving, and the asshole had taken too much off the back and sides, and it pissed him the hell off. He was gonna be walking around like a douchebag for at least a month or two while it grew out._

_That morning, he knew he was going to remain fucked when he burnt the hell out off his tongue on his first cup of coffee. Once some little shithead kids egged their garbage truck that afternoon, he thought that would be the pinnacle of negativity, but lo and behold, he’d arrived home to some potentially devastating news._

_Mandy was waiting for him, looking uncharacteristically sad; her mascara smudged as if she’d been crying earlier._

_He was about to ask her if some douchebag boyfriend had fucked with her, but then she’d looked at him with a very specific kind of stricken look that she had reserved for one topic. One person._

_“Dad’s up for parole,” she said softly._

_“What?” he asked dumbly._

_“I got a call, and I guess they’re considering him for parole. He has a hearing next week.”_

_“Fuck.”_

_“Yeah, fuck.”_

_He made his way to the kitchen and cracked an Old Style._

_“What are we gonna do, Mick?” Mandy continued._

_He took a long gulp from the can. “He may not even get approved. I’d actually be fuckin’ amazed if he did. Can you picture him comin’ off good enough in a meeting with prison and court people for them to let his ogre-y ass out earlier than they gotta? He ain’t ever served less than his full sentence before, and he’s way fuckin’ past third strike.”_

_“They don’t have three-strike laws in Illinois,” said Mandy. “Can’t believe your delinquent ass doesn’t know that.”_

_“Whatever, I’m just sayin’ that he probly won’t make early release. We shouldn’t worry about it unless it actually gets approved.”_

_“Don’t you think it’s better to have some kinda plan? If he gets out, we can’t fucking stay here. I can’t.”_

_“Fuck that,_ he _can’t fuckin’ stay here. This place is ours now.”_

_She snorted humorlessly. “You gonna be the one to explain that to him?”_

_“Nah, we’ll tell his parole officer. Get a fuckin’ restrainin’ order. We’ll figure it out.”_

_“You gonna talk to a lawyer, then?”_

_Mickey sighed deeply, rubbing his brow. “I will if he gets approved. They gonna call and tell you what happens? It’ll probly take ‘em months to process anyway.”_

_“Yeah,” she nodded. “They’re gonna call.”_

_“Alright, so we’ll just sit tight and see what happens.”_

_Mandy exhaled heavily, crossing her arms around herself in a hug. “Yeah, okay.”_

_“Maybe you should call your friend and tell him I can’t make it tonight,” he tried._

_“Fuck that, Mickey!” she said, pointing in his face. “This isn’t an excuse for you to back out of our deal.”_

_Mickey rolled his eyes. “Fuck’s sake, Mandy! I’ve had a shit-ass week, and now this shit on top of everything, and you want me to end it with another terrible date?”_

_“Why are you assuming it’s gonna be terrible? Ian’s great.”_

_“If Ian’s so great, then why does he need your lame ass to set him up, huh?”_

_“He doesn’t need me to find him guys, trust me. I fucking showed you his picture. I just think you two would actually make sense together in a weird way. Like. . . complimentary or something.”_

_“Why do you think that?”_

_“I don’t know, douchebag, I just do.”_

_“Well then, it must be true,” he deadpanned._

_After his long shower—which he didn’t feel remotely guilty for now that they had a brand new water heater that could kick the old one’s ass a few hundred times over, fuck the extra money on their bill—he stood in front of his dresser wondering exactly how much effort he cared to put forth in terms of clothing for this Ian guy._

_“Mandy!” he called._

_“What?” she asked, sauntering in casually._

_“The fuck should I wear to this bullshit?”_

_“You’re actually asking me for clothing advice now? Did you hit your head today or something?”_

_Mickey flipped her off over his shoulder. “He’s your fuckin’ friend. I’ve never even talked to the guy.”_

_“Just wear some black jeans, and whatever shirt doesn’t look like total shit,” she shrugged. “No ripped off sleeves!”_

_He was tempted to grab one of his homemade sleeveless numbers out of sheer spite, but grabbed a plain tee shirt with a vee neck instead. Normal people basic shit._

_“Any tips, or whatever? Not that I give a fuck.” He was just as likely to ignore her tips and do the opposite, as he was to take her advice._

_“Just. . . I don’t know, make yourself seem wantable. Don’t do that thing where you think the other guy thinks he’s better than you. Ian’s just as South Side as you are, so you can be yourself.”_

_Mickey sputtered a laugh._

_“Okay,” she continued, “maybe you could try, like, a better fucking version of yourself for once. I’m just saying you should be confident. You’ve been getting a lot of action lately, right? Guys want you. So just, like, project that. And don’t be nervous.”_

_“I’m not fuckin’ nervous. I’m already bored, and ready for this nightmare to be over with finally.”_

_“That’s the spirit,” Mandy mocked blankly. “Can you just, please, please, please, not be a dick to him? I’d like us to remain friends.”_

_“I can try,” answered Mickey. “No promises.”_

  


Mickey’s mouth goes slightly agape as he watches Ian shovel food into his mouth like a man dying of starvation, while intermittently chugging beer.

“Your sister should really consider a career as a matchmaker,” he sasses between big-ass bites. “She’s obviously meant for that line of work.”

Mickey’s damn near flabbergasted when Ian takes another pull of beer, then burps loudly.

“I’ll let her know you think so,” he manages.

“No need. I’ll definitely be telling her personally,” Ian continues with his mouth full.

Mickey watches, frozen, as Ian summons their server over.

“What can I get you?” she asks.

“A to go box, please,” Ian replies. Then he smiles genuinely again, and Mickey’s stomach does a weird flippy thing. “Just for mine. And I’ll love you forever if you make it snappy.”

Ian definitely hates him. And why shouldn’t he?

“Sure thing.” The girl looks like she wants to save Ian from all that is wrong with the world, and even deigns to look over at Mickey like the lowly scum that he is for screwing this all up.

Mickey’s food is growing cold as he watches Ian slowly melting down before his very eyes, cramming food into his mouth so that he doesn’t have to speak, then dumping it all into the styrofoam to-go box when it arrives.

He wonders if Ian is going to storm out without saying another word at all, or if he’s actually going to deck him from across the table. The tempest he’s brewing seems unpredictable.

“Look. . .” Mickey begins, wondering if he really has it in him to apologize. He can’t remember ever saying he’s sorry for anything in his whole fucking life, quite honestly. But he’s spared having to go through with it, as Ian cuts him off abruptly.

“No, you look. I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, and what’s happened to make you act like the biggest asshole on the face of the planet, but I’m not some fucking pushover that’s just gonna sit here for another of the worst 30 minutes of my life trying to come up with ways to talk to someone who clearly has no interest in having anything to do with me. I would ask you why the hell you even bothered agreeing to go out with me in the first place, but at this point, I couldn’t give a fuck less what you have to say about anything. I’m sure you’ll just brush this all off your shoulders as soon as I’m gone, and text back whoever’s booty calling you, and go get your rocks off, so what’s the point? I just want you to know that this was sincerely the biggest waste of time ever, and I wish I could get it back and go get a fucking root canal instead, because that would be more fun. Also, I’m not paying for my meal, you are. And you better fucking tip well, because I’m calling them later to make sure.” He stands up huffily and tosses his napkin on the table, grabbing his box of food. “Have a nice fucking life, dickhead.”

And with that parting blow, he’s out.

Everyone in the vicinity is staring at Mickey, but he just looks down at his plate and starts eating his monstrous lukewarm burger.

_‘Fuck, that was hot.’_


	2. Crash

** IAN **

 

When Ian gets home after his date from hell, there are four family members sitting around his living room, but he barely looks at them.

“How’d it go?” Fiona asks, voice way too chipper for his mood right now.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he replies stoically.

“Jeez, that bad, huh?” she says.

“Yep. That bad,” he says, shifting uncomfortably.

“Well, come hang out with us for a while.”

“I really don’t feel like it.” He walks into the room anyway, running his hands over his brother, Liam’s head, and then his niece, Franny’s. He gives his younger sister, Debs, a small wave and a meager smile. “Just gonna go upstairs and try to delete this day from my timeline.”

“Okay, that sounds a tad melodramatic. It couldn’t have been as horrible as all that,” says Fiona.

“Just trust me. It was the opposite of good in every conceivable way. I’ll tell you about it later. Much, much later.” He makes his way to the stairs, calling over his shoulder, “Have a good night, everybody.”

He contemplates calling Mandy and bitching her out, but decides that the berating can wait until tomorrow too. He quickly sheds all his clothes, chucks them in a corner, and pulls on some loose sweats, before throwing himself down on the bed in the same fashion he had earlier, after his shower. Right back where he started, but with a much more bitter taste in his mouth.

It feels really fucking stupid to be bummed out about his night, given that he hadn’t really expected anything, but he kind of is though. There’s definitely a part of him that had been hoping for some kind of spark to reignite him in one way or another. It didn’t have to be passion, necessarily, but even just some fun, or a little bit of ego-boosting. A compliment or two would have been amazing. He can’t remember the last time anyone non-female had said anything to him about his looks, or his anything. He wants to know if he still has it in him to be enticing, because he used to feel that way most of the time, but now he just doesn’t.

Every reason, large and small, that he’d agreed to go out with Mickey has been nullified by what actually happened. He didn’t really get to find any answers, because while he did put forth the bare minimum of trying, the other half of the date equation did not. So how was Ian to tell? The whole fucking thing was for naught. Like a scrapped scientific experiment.

He leans over to his bedside table and pulls open the drawer, taking out one of the pre-rolled joints his brother, Lip, had left for him the last time he was around for the weekend. He stares up at the cracked, yellowed ceiling as he smokes it, feeling just as sorry for himself as he did yesterday. He supposes that’s what he’d really been hoping to change: his mood. He needed a reason not to feel low. Maybe then he could stop beating himself up about every single remotely less-than-good quality he possessed. Sometimes he'd overthink things to the point where even the things he liked about himself got skewed into the negative somehow, until everything about him seemed like total shit.

The kind of shit that even someone like Mickey Milkovich wouldn’t put up with.

Ian smokes the entire joint in one go, while his circular thoughts merry-go-round in his head, then he gets his headphones out and lies there feeling his feelings to a soundtrack until he drifts off to sleep.

He comes to a couple hours later, mouth dry, and bladder aching. Once he hits the bathroom, he comes back to his room and opens the box of cold leftover food from earlier, munching on his sandwich ravenously. He picks up his phone, which he usually keeps on silent, and sees a couple of missed texts from Mandy asking for deets on his date. She must be working tonight, and not have run into her brother yet. He sighs, taking a couple more bites, when the screen lights up in his hand with Mandy’s name on the caller display.

“Hello?”

“Hey!” he hears her half-yelling over the loud background noise of the bar. “Why didn’t you text me back? Are you still with Mickey?”

Ian almost laughs. “Not exactly.”

“What?” she says louder. “Hang on!” He waits as she presumably walks outside. He can hear the heavy sound of a door opening and closing, and her voice becomes clearer. “Okay, I’m outside. Takin’ a smoke break.” He hears the spark of a lighter. “So, still with Mickey, yay or nay? Although, I guess if you were still together, you probly wouldn’t answer this call.”

“No, I’m not with your brother. I didn’t even stay until the end of the date, if you could even call it that.”

“What! Oh no, what the fuck did he do?”

“Um, well, let’s see. . . he was late, he was rude, he barely said two words, and when he did they could cut glass, he didn’t seem remotely interested in anything about me, and, oh yeah, he was fucking messaging other dudes on a hook-up app right in front of me.”

“Holy shit, really?”

“Yes, really, Mandy. God! Why the hell would you set me up with someone like that? I thought you said we’d be good together? There was nothing good between us. At all.”

“Fuck, Ian, I’m so sorry! I really thought since you were my friend and I’d talked you up, that he’d be on his best behavior. I honestly thought he’d be different with you. Maybe it just wasn’t the right way for you to meet. I should’ve just invited you over to the house to chill or something. He’s such a fucking weirdo spaz.”

“I really don’t see how that would change anything. I’m pretty sure he hated me on the spot. And I don’t really see in what universe I would get along with him, so maybe this is kinda on you.”

“I said I was sorry for my part! Don’t take it out on me. I swear, I know my dumbass brother better than anyone, and like, no one knows much about him at all. I’m telling you, there’s something that reminds me of him when I’m with you, and I just think he could like you the way I like you, but like, with sex and stuff.”

Ian rolls his eyes. “Mandy, it’s never gonna happen. That was the worst date in the history of dates, and there are dates that have ended in actual death.”

“Ugh, I can’t believe him. I’m gonna chop his fucking balls off!”

“Don’t bother. We just don’t click. I’ll get over it. Although, I’d like to think that you fucking owe me one. Big time.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Whatever you want.”

“I’ll think of something,” says Ian. “Oh, and Mandy?”

“Yeah?”

“Never try to fix me up with anyone ever again. _Ever._ That privilege has been revoked.”

She sighs audibly across the line. “Noted.”

 

||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 

** MICKEY **

 

Mickey likes to sleep the fuck in on weekends, because during the work week, his ass has to be out of the house practically at the crack of dawn, and still being kind of a night owl, he can lose a lot of sleep, so he likes to catch up. Mandy usually closes down the bar on Fridays and Saturdays, when the tips are most plentiful due to volume, so they don’t usually run into each other until the afternoons on weekend days, even when they’re both home.

He’s not looking forward to having to explain himself about what went down with her friend. The best he can hope for is putting off any haranguing until later, if by some kinda dumb luck, Ian hadn’t been in touch with her last night.

He rolls around in bed, noting that it’s almost noon, and instead of grabbing a cigarette, he decides that a wake-and-bake is in order, and grabs his bong instead.

After a couple of hits, he scratches his balls, then smoothes his forehead, trying to will his mind to stop playing Ian’s parting kiss-off to him on a loop. If he could remember his dreams, he’s pretty sure the words would’ve played a part there in his sleep as well. Aside from the choice belittlements and insults his shitstain of a father used to hurl at him, and his sister’s penchant for dressing him down, no one’s ever really spoken to him quite like that before. Usually, people were too afraid by his menacing appearance, presence, and family name to stand up to him.

He should be pissed off about it, but instead, he finds himself intrigued. Maybe even a little aroused.

Just as he’s reaching down to tug at himself over the boxers, his bedroom door bursts open, revealing an angry-ass Mandy. So much for being safe until later.

“The fuck, Mandy! Get the hell outta my room!”

“What the fuck did you do to Ian?”

He adjusts the sheet to make sure his half-chub is fully covered, and takes another hit off his bong. “Don’t know what your talking about.”

“You know exactly what the hell I’m talking about. Answer the question before I smash your precious bong against the wall, so it’ll smell like nasty-ass bong water in here for weeks.”

Mickey snarls. “Calm the fuck down, Jesus!” He takes another hit. “I didn’t treat him any differently than anyone else.” He shrugs.

“But he’s not just anyone else, douchebag, he’s the best fucking friend I have right now. I thought that would be enough for you to at least show him a little basic respect. You must’ve said some mean shit to get Ian upset. He’s pretty tough.”

Mickey snorts in derision. “I don’t know if I’d call him tough, but maybe I misjudged him a little at first.”

Mandy crosses her arms severely. “What. Did. You. Say?”

He rolls his eyes and tosses his free arm up. “I don’t even remember. He asked me some dumbass questions, I answered. That’s it.”

“He said you were fucking booty-calling other dudes right in his face!”

“You told me to act like guys wanted me!”

“I told you to act _wantable_ , as in try to make yourself have any semblance of sexiness in your attitude and who you are, not to fucking flaunt your sluttiness and seem interested in other people.”

“I was showin’ that there were guys out there in the world that wanna bang me.”

“Guess what? Every dude out there in the world wants to bang anyone who’ll let them fuckin’ bang! That proves nothing.”

“That one’s on you. Just sayin’.”

She rolls her eyes. “He said it was the worst date in the history of the world. He said you were a total dick. Why couldn’t you just fucking act like a normal person for one goddamn night of your life?”

“Why should I?”

“Because I told you he’d be good for you. You’d be good for each other! You think I’d just pull that outta my ass? You could’ve had a good night with him. You could’ve had more than one good night, I’m pretty sure. But you fucked it up. Just like you fuck up everything.”

“Oh, gimme a goddamn break! It’s your fault for thinkin’ all that bullshit in the first place. Why would you set me up that way if you know how I am, huh?”

“I wanted you to have a chance! I wanted you to want to be different with just one person.”

“Well, maybe that shit don’t happen like that, Mandy. Did you ever think of that? Maybe it takes some fuckin’ time to act familiar with someone. Maybe you can’t just change your whole fuckin’ personality for some stranger.”

Mandy exhales loudly, blowing her bangs off her face, and stepping forward to sit down on the bed. She reaches out for the bong in his right hand, and he moves it away quickly.

“I’m not gonna break it, I promise. I just want a hit.” He hands it over and watches silently as she takes a big rip. “I get that you can’t just suddenly become Little Mary Sunshine, and that that isn’t you. That’s fine. But if you don’t soften just a little, or let anyone come close at all, how are you ever gonna get to the point of being familiar? It takes effort to become comfortable with someone. On both sides. You’ll never be able to be, like, _intimate_ if you don’t start with fuckin’ baby steps or whatever.” She takes another deep hit, then coughs, snickering. “Remember _What About Bob_?”

Mickey snorts, reaching for his smokes. “Yeah. That was the shit when we were kids. Bill fuckin’ Murray.”

“Baby steps onto the boat,” says Mandy, and they both burst out laughing.

“Can’t believe you remembered that shit.” Mickey lights up a cigarette, wracking his brain for quotes. “I’m a sailor? I sail now?”

They laugh again.

“We should find that movie online and re-watch it. See if it still holds up,” Mandy suggests.

“I’m down.”

“Too bad we can’t invite Ian. He loves comedies.”

“Okay, how long are you gonna gimme shit about your fuckin’ friend?”

“I’ll never stop. Ian is the best, and you’re a dummy for passing him up. It would be good if you could swallow your unearned amount of pride, and make some kind of amends so we could all be friends, at least.”

“Pretty sure that ship has sailed, bitch. He fuckin’ hates me for sure.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Probly cuz he fuckin’ yelled in my face in a restaurant full of people about how much I suck, and called me an asshole, and then wished me a nice life, oh, and then called me a dickhead just in case I hadn’t gotten the picture yet.”

Mandy giggles. “Man, I wish I coulda been there. Good for him for standing up to your sorry ass. I was afraid he might’ve just tucked tail and ran. He’s been going through a rough time lately.”

Mickey doesn’t want his curiosity to be piqued by that statement, but it is.

“Oh yeah?”

Mandy gives him a look. “Yeah. So thanks a lot for just proving his point about how useless and good-for-nothing men really are.”

He tries to stop himself from probing. “He get dumped or somethin’?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Nothin’. You brought it up.”

“Yeah, well, let’s just say he’s been treated like shit, and he’s not been even trying to get with anyone in months, because he doesn’t trust anyone. I wanted him to give dating a try, just as much as I wanted you to. He’s been too sad for someone so hot. You probly set him back by like months.”

Mickey’s gut twists at the revelation, and he does actually feel bad about the whole thing again. He’s a selfish piece of shit.

“It’s not like I’d be able to get him to speak to me again,” says Mickey.

“You could try. That’s all I’ve been asking you to do in the first place. Just _try_.”

He huffs, saying nothing more as she retreats from his room.

So much for a wank.

 

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** IAN **

 

He fills Fiona in on all the grizzly details when he wakes up the next morning, and somehow, recounting it all openly shifts his perspective. Not on Mickey, but on the dating thing. He decides that he’s not going to let one awful experience ruin his goal of getting back out there. He realizes now that he does want it. He wants something. Someone. It doesn’t have to be serious. It just needs to be new.

He rejoins Scruff, because he did some googling and found out that it’s the best gay dating app, and can be less hook-up-y than Grindr, if you so choose to use it as something more. He probably should just get back on the horse and bang it out with some randos, but that’s always been easy, and he really does want that validation that doesn’t come from just sex. He could try some proper talking, dating, putting his whole self out there, instead of just his dick.

That’s how he meets Mike.

At first he’s soured by the fact that his name so closely resembles that of his very bad date’s, but he realizes that’s one of those dumb prejudices that he shouldn’t harp on, so he starts talking to the guy online.

It’s easy. Mike is just flat out one of those good guys that you think don’t really exist in the actual world. He’s a little bit corny, but he makes Ian feel good, and he doesn’t get pressured into meeting him too soon. It hasn’t even come up yet, in fact. Messaging him after his shifts becomes a habit, and they establish a bit of a rapport until Ian starts to think that maybe Mike is actual dating material. Like, the grown up kind that you’re supposed to look for.

They’ve been in contact for almost two weeks when Ian gets his first message from one Mickey Milkovich. Of course, his username (MustBeThisLongToRide) doesn’t give that away, but the user pic does.

He’s hesitant to even open it, but he’s also extremely curious to know what Mickey could possibly have to say to him after what went down on their ill-fated set-up. He gets queasy just thinking about it, and leaves it unread for hours until he finally works up the nerve to check.

> _Hey man, I talked to Mandy and I thought about what you said, believe it or not, and I just wanted to say sorry for being a dick. I know it doesn’t mean much to you, but I never say sorry for anything, so take that however you want. I did have reasons for being in a shitty mood that night, but they didn’t have anything to do with you, so that’s why I wanted to say something I guess._

Ian’s pretty much aghast. He never expected or even wanted to hear from Mickey again, even with the Mandy connection, so it’s a somewhat pleasant surprise. He can easily believe that Mickey doesn’t believe in apologies, and it’s kind of weird that he decided that Ian deserved one. Even though he did, definitely, by at least nine out of ten people’s standards, deserve one. He wonders if Mandy put him up to it. Or even ghostwrote it. Or maybe even grabbed his phone and sent it without Mickey’s knowledge at all.

He decides to leave it marked ‘ _read’_ for a couple days while he decides if he wants to even say anything back. He finally realizes that it’s nagging at him too much to just let it go, so he opens the message up and re-reads the screen a few too many times trying to come up with a good reply. In the end, he figures it’s best to keep it short, simple, and to the point. It’s not like he needs to keep some kind of back and forth going.

> _Thanks. I appreciate it._

Ian is shocked once more, when he receives a swift reply to his curt words of polite finality. He takes a deep breath and opens it.

> _Does that mean I’m forgiven or ???_

What the fuck? Ian gasps at the audacity, unable to refrain from typing an immediate answer.

> _Ummm. . . no ???_

This is venturing into like surreal territory.

> _Why not, Red?_

Ian rolls his eyes, murmuring nonsense to himself.

> _Because you don’t just get to say sorry and wash the slate clean. I don’t fucking owe you anything._
> 
> _Never said you did._
> 
> _Then why the fuck are you still texting me?_
> 
> _You’re my sister’s friend. Don’t wanna make shit uncomfortable between you._
> 
> _While I may find your sister to be kind of an idiot for thinking you and I would be a good idea, she’s groveled enough for the part she played. And besides, I actually liked her long before that night ever happened._
> 
> _I’m just sayin’. . . if you were to wanna hang out with her over at our place or whatever, I’m not gonna fuck with you._

Again, what?

> _I guess I’m not really comprehending why you give a shit what I do. With or without your sister._
> 
> _I really don’t. Just looking out for Mandy._

Somehow, Ian has a hard time believing that answer.

> _Whatever. Why did you even look me up on here?_
> 
> _Didn’t. Just saw you when I was looking at profiles._

Profiles. Ian hadn’t even clicked on Mickey’s. He was afraid of what he might find given his ridiculous username and obvious penchant for fuck and runs. Then again, you had to share private albums with people on here purposely and no nudes were allowed publicly.

> _My profile isn’t set to casual shit._
> 
> _Maybe it should be._

Okay, really now. . . what the fuck?

> _Are you trying to flirt with me now?_
> 
> _I don’t flirt._
> 
> _Whatever the hell you’re doing, it’s not gonna happen._
> 
> _What’s not gonna happen?_

Ian bit his lip. This motherfucker was really playing coy with him all of a sudden.

> _Anything._
> 
> _Did I ask you for something?_
> 
> _Ok. I’m done with this now. Bye._
> 
> _Lol. Bye._

Ian exits the app, turns off his phone, and tosses it on the bed, scrunching up his face in puzzlement.

He doesn’t know what the hell is going on, but it’s definitely annoying. His phone lights up, and he glances over at it wearily. It’s Mike, though, not Mickey, thank fuck.

> _How’s your day? :)_

A nice, normal, nice guy that asks you shit like how your stupid day went and punctuates it with a goddamn smiley face. Instead of answering, Ian jumps to the next step.

> _You wanna go out this weekend?_

There. A bold move. Something to propel him onwards and upwards. Someone to dust off the cobwebs with.

> _Sure!_

He’s ready.

 

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** MICKEY **

 

He really needs to get himself out of the goddamn house. He’s been acting like a maniac, obsessing over some guy who hates him. Fuck knows why. He hasn’t been out for anything other than work since he and Mandy had gotten the news that their dad was denied parole, and gone out to celebrate. He hadn’t even gotten laid that night, or any since. Mandy’s still too miffed at him over Ian to let him cash in on his promised month of free booze at the bar she works at, so he just sits around the house.

He can’t really say why the hell he felt the need to apologize to Ian over his pretty much characteristic behavior, other than the obvious: Mickey is hot for him. Plain and simple.

Maybe it’s the anomaly of having had a guy lay him out so viciously with cutting remarks, or the fact that he’d only gotten a hint of what Ian was like beyond the surface, but it’s also just pure lust. The more he stares at Ian’s profile pic, the more he wonders if he has any private photos that he sends to people, the way Mickey does. He shouldn’t feel teased, since Ian had done nothing to entice him, but he does. He feels like he’d had the vaguest tiny sliver of a taste of the redhead, and now he has to know what a full mouthful is like.

So he keeps messaging the dude even though Ian’s made it clear that he has no interest in having anything to do with him. Having to work for it isn’t exactly Mickey’s style, but there’s just something that compels him to take this as a challenge.

Maybe he’s just bored.

The next day, he opens Scruff, scrolling around checking out new meat, and visiting a few prospect’s profiles. He still hasn’t been able to set anything up with the guy he’d texted back during his shitty date, because their schedules don’t mesh at all. It’s annoying. He scrolls to Ian’s profile, debating.

He opens up their message thread, reading through it one more time.

> _Okay, what if I do have something to ask you?_

He has to wait almost an hour for a reply, spent idly paying attention to the TV, and playing Temple Run on his phone.

> _I thought we already covered this._

At least Ian was still answering him. And he hadn’t decided to block him yet, either. Both encouraging signs, to be sure.

> _Yeah yeah, you don’t owe me anything and I should expect nothing. I get it. I can still ask tho, right?_
> 
> _If you enjoy wasting your time, then by all means._
> 
> _Touchy._
> 
> _Don’t you mean, touché?_
> 
> _No, I mean fucking touchy, as in you’re touchy as hell. You can keep your French bullshit._

There was a bit of a pause.

> _Touché._

Mickey googled the word to make sure he knew what it meant, and then chuckled. So Ian was being clever with him now. Another point in his favor.

> _Eat me. Anyway. . . Mandy thinks we should all hang out, so. You wanna?_
> 
> _Why wouldn’t she be the one to ask me that?_
> 
> _Because I beat her to the punch, coppertop. Keep up._
> 
> _I think I made it pretty clear to her that I don’t wanna see you again. Think I made it pretty clear to you too. Apparently I failed?_

Mickey rolls his eyes.

> _Come on, man. I promise it won’t be like when we met. This is for Mandy’s sake._

It was way easier to make this all about Mandy’s friendship with Ian, even if Mickey felt like a giant douchebag doing it. Like he gave a fuck about his dumb sister’s supposedly sacred hetero bond with her gay wingman.

> _Uh huh. Again, why isn’t Mandy the one asking me?_
> 
> _Again, because it’s fucking me. I don’t have any other way to say it._
> 
> _And when is it exactly that Mandy wants me to come over and hang out with the two of you?_
> 
> _Saturday night._
> 
> _She works at the bar on Saturday nights._
> 
> _Before she goes in._
> 
> _Unfortunately, Mickey, you’re gonna have to let Mandy know that I already have plans on Saturday night. Although, I’m pretty fucking sure I already texted her about those plans earlier today and she was pretty excited on my behalf. So it’s weird that she suddenly wants to hang out that same exact night, and used you as a messenger._

Fuck. That’s not good.

> _Maybe she said Sunday. I was high at the time._
> 
> _Right. Well, I have a date on Saturday, so it’s gonna be a pass. If it goes as well as I think it’s going to, I’ll probly be busy on Sunday too, so double pass._
> 
> _Date, eh? Thought I might’ve scared you off those for life._
> 
> _Yeah, well, you did your best, but actually, I had the opposite reaction. I decided to finally give someone nice a chance and do the real thing all properly. We’ve spoken enough for me to know he’s the opposite of you. That’s the important part._
> 
> _Ouch, gingerbread. You can retract your claws now._
> 
> _Fuck off, Mickey._
> 
> _Have fun on your date._
> 
> _I will._

Mickey chuckles and tosses his phone down on the couch. What the fuck now?

He gets bored out of his mind on Friday evening, bumming around the house in his grandpa slippers, chain-smoking, and trying to lock something down for later. He needs a distraction in the form of some dick.

It’s just not fucking happening online, though, and he really doesn’t feel like dragging his ass down to some club in Boystown. He doesn’t have it in him to put forth that much effort today.

He opens Ian’s profile. He’s starting to really hate this one photo of him and his fucking perfectly shaped lips. He’s stared at it an unhealthy amount in the last few days. It’s not good.

He opens up their message thread. He might be crazy, but that last exchange was kind of close to civil. In a way. Ian knew how to talk to him. Sort of. He really just wants to see a picture of his dick, though. Like. . . so badly. Even just some pecs and abs would be good. Maybe with a little bit of happy trail above the waistband. He needs some softcore Ian porn. Or hardcore, he’s not picky.

Maybe if he just sent his own nudes first. Like an elementary school ‘you show me yours, I’ll show you mine’ kinda thing, but reversed. Not that Ian would probably want to share his nudes with Mickey just out of the blue. He was on there for serious dating or whatever the fuck, so maybe those types didn’t even show off their shit to anyone up front. Mickey hadn’t when he’d talked to the first dates he’d ended up going out with before Ian.

But if Ian saw what Mickey was working with. . . maybe that would paint him in a more appealing light. It could be that extra desirable factor that Mandy was always harping about.

He could just share the album, wait until he saw it opened, and be like, ‘Oh, whoops, my bad. Wrong recipient. Please ignore.’

Fuck it, it’s worth a shot. He sends an invite to his private album, which contains two pictures. One of his ass, and one of his cock, framed by his tatted up hands. Guys loved that shit.

He sniffs, running a hand through his hair and staring at the phone lying upward on the table. He needs Ian to see this relatively quickly if he’s gonna get the timing right. He lights up a smoke as he stares at it, waiting for that checkmark to appear indicating the open files.

He’s pretty sure he doesn’t blink for at least 5 minutes, when luck finally plays to his advantagefor once in his life, and the checkmark pops up. He grabs the phone and stares at the time, waiting exactly two full minutes before revoking Ian’s access to the album.

He opens up the message thread.

> _Shit, man. My bad. That wasn’t supposed to go to you. Party foul._

He waits a few more minutes, then sees those bouncing dots in a bubble on his screen. Then they disappear. Then they reappear. Then they disappear again.

Mickey smiles. Definitely on the hook if he’s flustered, and unsure of what to say.

> _Party foul? That doesn’t even make sense._

Weak.

> _Just meant it was an accident. You probly didn’t open it, but if you did, just ignore it._

That tell-tale bubble pops up once more, and there’s another dance of deleted thoughts and false starts, until he gets a one-word answer.

> _Done._

Oh yeah. On the hook and then some.

The next day, Mandy bursts into his room again, but this time it’s later in the afternoon, and Mickey’s spacing out on Netflix, clothed enough, without a wandering hand.

“What the fuck is up with you and Ian?” she asks sharply.

“Uhhh, I’m pretty sure you already know that nothin’s up. He still ain’t interested.”

“Uh huh, so why have you been DM-stalking him on that dating app?”

“I was just tryin’ to patch things up for your sake. Thought we could all be friends.”

“Uh huh. And friends send friends unsolicited dick pics? In a platonic way? After being shut down? Repeatedly?”

“That was an accident. I told him it was meant for someone else.”

“Right, because you definitely send pics of your junk out to people on total accident, all the time.”

“You don’t know what I do in my private life.”

Mandy snorts. “Christ, Mickey, you are so transparent. I thought you didn’t like him.”

“Don’t.” He shrugs.

“You don’t like him, but you’re making up stories about me wanting to hang out with him, just so you can see him, and you’re making up lame ruses to send him nudes online?”

“How is this any of your business?”

“Um, you made it my business when you tried to use me to talk to him and get him to see you again. What the hell is wrong with you? What are you doing?”

“I don’t fucking know!” he finally yells. “I don’t know. I just. . . maybe. . .”

“Maybe what?”

“Want a second chance.”

“Like another date?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

Mandy looks at him all pityingly, and he’s about to lose his shit.

“Mickey. . . he’s moved on. You fucked it up. You gotta let it go.”

“Why? What if you were right?”

“Right about what?”

“That we’d be good together. If I wasn’t. . . ya know. . . _me_.”

“What makes you think that now?”

“I don’t know. I kinda like sparrin’ with him on DMs. He never blocked me, and he kept answerin’ back, so I’m thinkin’ there’s more of a shot than you think.”

“Mickey, he’s going out with another guy tonight. A nice guy. Just let him have that. I’ll try to start bringing him around more, and maybe you guys can become friends, and then see what happens.”

“Where’s he goin’ on the date?”

She furrows her brow. “What? Why?”

“Just wonderin’.”

She narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Why?”

“Cuz I’m fuckin’ curious! Where they goin’?”

“If you think I’m gonna let you ruin the second date he’s been on since his asshole ex dumped him, you’re outta your mind! You’re lucky he got over your bullshit so quickly, or I would’ve kicked your stupid ass.”

“I won’t ruin anything. I fuckin’ promise, okay? Just tell me.”

She takes a deep breath.

 

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** IAN **

 

He lets Mike pick the restaurant they meet at, and he ends up opting for a French café in a stylish neighborhood that’s a bit pricier than the kinds of places Ian usually goes for, but the food is really good. They even have specialty cocktails, so he indulges in a couple of fancy sounding concoctions that taste like pure alcohol with an infusion of flowers.

Mike had greeted him with a hug, which felt slightly stilted. A gesture of familiarity Ian wasn’t sure had been earned, but then again, it was probably polite given the daily wholesome kind of flirting they engaged in via messenger. They’re getting along well enough, but Ian also kind of feels like he’s on someone else’s date. Everything is too nice: the place, the tastes, the vibe, the conversation, but most of all, the guy. It all seems so strangely courteous, which makes sense to an extent, since it is a first date, and they’ve only had limited interaction in their texts, and of course the idea is to make a good first impression. But, Ian’s not sure if the right chemistry exists between them. He’s not sure there’s anything there that isn’t surface, which would be fine if they were just in it for the sex, but he’s supposed to be trying for more than that.

Mike is like too much of a good thing. Too unlike Ian. There’s no dirty, or edgy side to him. No signs that he’d ever really struggled to pay a bill, or broken a law, or even gotten into a fistfight. And there’s nothing inherently wrong with that or anything, the guy is who he is, and Ian is presuming a whole lot without much evidence, but he’s still not sure if they’re a good match. He’d dated a much older rich guy when he was younger, if it could be called dating given all the hiding behind closed doors, but he’d kept it secret from everyone in his life, because more than the age difference had felt wrong about it. It had been like he was acting a part when they were together. Older and more mature, maybe, but also more refined and demure, like he belonged in the lobbies of four-star hotels and the passenger seat of a Jaguar XJ. And even if Mike isn’t as well-off as all that, Ian doesn’t know if he can do that again. That performance thing. If he’s already feeling out of his element and unlike himself on the first date, that might be a kind of relationship omen.

Of course, there’s a good chance that he’ just overthinking things. Because he does a fucking lot of that these days. He could easily talk himself out of anything if he mulled it over long enough.

That’s probably what it is. He’s sitting across from a smart, attractive, interested guy who just wants to show Ian a good time, and all he can do is think about what’s wrong with him. . . or _not_ wrong with him, as it were. He’s trying to talk himself out of saying yes to someone for being too normal.

Ian’s a fucking idiot.

He’s smiling a lot, but he has no real idea what the words coming out of his mouth even are. It’s like he can’t connect no matter how hard he tries to stay engaged.

Maybe he’s a little bored. Maybe he should suggest going somewhere else. Somewhere more interesting where they might be able to be less stiff, and have fun. Maybe it’ll get better.

They’re done with dinner and debating about the pastry menu, and Ian is just about to suggesta change of venue, maybe a more low-key kind of bar or club, when someone interrupts their dessert banter.

“Yo.”

He looks up and his jaw falls slack with surprise.

“ _Mickey?_ What the fuck are you doing here?”

There’s no way he’d be at a place like this in a million years, let alone on the same exact night Ian happened to be there on a date. It can’t be a coincidence, but still, Ian looks around checking if someone else is with him.

“I, uh, just wanted to stop by, and, uh, ask you something,” Mickey says, scratching the corner of his mouth with his thumb and looking extremely unsure of himself, which is a total one-eighty from the image he’d presented during that half hour or so they’d spent trapped in that doomed diner booth weeks ago.

“Huh?” Ian is so confused.

It had already been weird fielding random messaging jags from Mickey, with his unique methods of trying to make amends, and then the recent incident of the so-called accidental nudes he’d sent. He’s never gotten this amount of strange mixed messages from anyone in his entire life.

“I’m not tryin’ to be a dick, or anything, but Mandy told me about this guy,” he gestures vaguely at Mike without looking at him, “and I just wanted to tell you, in person, that you should reconsider.”

Ian glances at Mike, as if he can help him figure this one out, when he has even less of a clue what’s going on here.

“I’m Mike,” he finally says to Mickey, in a restrained, almost inquisitive tone.

Ian finds himself on autopilot, introducing them for some reason, because he doesn’t know what else to do. “Mike, Mickey. Mickey, Mike.” He kind of motions between them as if they don’t already know who is who.

“Is this your ex?” Mike asks him.

Ian lets out an involuntary kind of high-pitched huff of a laugh, shaking his head. “No! This is not my ex. This is the guy I went on the bad date with.”

“Oh shit,” Mike says, scrutinizing Mickey more curiously with this new information in mind.

Mickey scowls. “You told him about me?”

Ian shrugs. “It was relevant to the whole. . . wait a minute, you’re not the one who should be asking questions right now. I’m out on a date, and you’re fucking crashing it. What the hell are you thinking?”

“I told you. You should give me another shot.”

“I already told you it’s not gonna happen. More than once. On chat. Why would you think it’s okay to just show up here?”

“Because I needed you to take me fuckin’ seriously. I think Mandy might be right. You and me could be a good thing.”

Ian laughs again. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. All we’ve ever done together is fight and be awkward. That’s not a good thing.”

“Just give me a fuckin’ clean slate alright? Go out with me one more time, and if you hate it. . . if you hate _me_ , then I’ll leave you alone.”

Ian looks over at Mike again, aghast and a little embarrassed. This is the weirdest situation he’s found himself in in a long time. Mike doesn’t really look shaken or anything, he’s almost amused, really.

Ian gazes back up at the bold interloper looking down at their table. “Mickey, you need to leave.”

He shakes his head, crossing his arms defiantly. “I’m stayin’ until you agree.”

Ian’s mouth falls open again, and his head swivels sharply between Mickey and Mike a few more times. “Are you out of your mind?”

Mickey raises one shoulder and both eyebrows. “Maybe.” He rubs his lips together. His face is always so expressive.

“You’ve gotta be the most socially inappropriate person in the whole of Chicago, including El train knockoff peddlers and ranting hobos on the street,” says Ian. “I’m on a date with Mike. I went on a date with you, and you ruined it, and now you’re ruining this one too. You make no sense.”

“Look, if I were this guy,” replies Mickey, pointing his thumb at Mike, “I woulda already dropped me to the ground and threatened me at least three different ways. He seems kinda lame, no offense, but whatever. Date him if you wanna, it’s your fuckin’ life. Just gimme another chance. One more. That’s it.”

Ian must’ve fallen into some kind of _Alice In Wonderland_ acid trip. There’s no other reasonable explanation. He looks over at Mike to gauge his reaction, but he kind of just shrugs. Is that tacit permission?

“If I agree, you’ll go away?” Ian asks.

Mickey smirks a little. “Yeah, I’ll go.”

“You know I could probly just have you kicked out,” Ian challenges.

“Oh yeah? I’d like to see 'em try.” Mickey smirks even wider.

Ian rolls his eyes, and throws up his hands. He really doesn’t want to be part of a scene here. “Fine, Mickey. I guess you’ve successfully coerced me into another date with you. Please leave.”

Mickey smiles with teeth, and Ian is a little taken aback by seeing him look kind of happy. “I’ll call you.”

And just like that, he’s gone. Ian’s brow is fully furrowed as he watches the back of him in a kind of discombobulated wonder as he walks away.

Across the table, Mike clears his throat, and Ian’s attention snaps back to him.

“I’m so fucking sorry about that. I fully could not have expected anything remotely like that to happen tonight. I’m. . . I really have no idea what the hell that was about.”

“I think it was pretty clear what it was about,” says Mike.

“Well, I mean, besides the obvious, though. I’m just. . . so confused.”

“How’d he even now where you were, anyway?”

Ian sighs. “His sister is kind of my best friend. She must’ve told him. Which is weird, because I told her I wasn’t interested in Mickey after everything.”

“Maybe he just overheard something.”

“Maybe.”

A short silence passes as Mike peers back down at the bakery menu, and Ian tries to think of where the hell to go from here.

“I’m sorry I agreed to go out with him,” Ian starts again. “I just wanted him to leave without making a scene.”

Mike meets his eye, sighing and tossing the menu back down. “It’s okay, Ian. You don’t owe me anything. We’ve only been talking for a couple of weeks.”

“I know, but I didn’t want you to have a shitty time with me. I mean, it was fine before he showed up, right?”

Mike arches an eyebrow. “Fine, or good?”

Ian grimaces. “Yeah, good. I meant, good.”

“Really? Because from what I saw in the spectator seats, you seemed a lot more animated talking to him for five minutes, than you did talking to me for an hour.”

Ian all but sputters. “That’s not true! I was just pissed. If I was animated, it was because I was reacting in anger, and the whole taken by surprise thing.”

Mike shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s it. I think you _are_ interested in him.”

Okay, whatever fucking opium the people around him have been smoking, Ian would appreciate it if they would share, because they’re definitely operating on a different wavelength than he is right now.

“Excuse me? We’re talking about the asshole who I had the worst date of my life with, who I’ve been fending off for over a week now on DMs. I think I would know if I had any interest in him. I don’t.”

“There’s a spark there,” Mike continues, undeterred. “Explore it.”

“So you’re like giving me permission to date him, or are you trying to say _you_ don’t wanna date me?”

“Neither. I’m more perceptive than I seem. I think you know that we don’t translate that great to real life in a romantic way, but you don’t want to be the one to say it. You’d probably go through the motions with me as far as I’d let you, but that’s not really fair to either of us. We’d just be wasting each other’s time.”

“I don’t. . . I don’t know what to say. None of this is going the way I thought it would.”

Mike snickers. “Yeah, well, it’s not exactly what I’d envisioned either, but it’s what happened.”

“I really am sorry. What a freakshow!”

“Hey, at least it was entertaining,” says Mike, and they both laugh. “We can still be friends.”

“Oh, so you don’t wanna fuck?” Ian jokes, perhaps inappropriately, but he’s tired of walking on eggshells.

His date doesn’t appear to be offended. “I’m trying to avoid the casual sex thing, actually. It used to be a problem for me.”

Ian snorts. “Yeah, me too.”

“I’ve actually been celibate for months now.”

“By choice?” Ian scrunches up his nose in disdain.

“Yeah, that’s the same reaction all my friends had when I told them, but it’s just what I want right now.”

“Not judging,” says Ian. “I’ve been sexless for months too.”

“But it wasn’t by choice,” notes Mike.

“Right. It just sorta. . . happened.”

“See, we’re already talking to each other a lot easier as friends. Expectations gone.”

Ian smiles. “Yeah, I guess so.”

They hang out a while longer, drinking coffee and eating cream puffs, talking about shit without the pressure of some kind of endgame. Ian feels immeasurably relieved. He never really hangs out with any other gay guys platonically, and it makes him realize how stupid that is, because it’s a little freeing in its own specific way.

Still, he can’t help but be peeved at Mickey for what he’d set off with his daring sudden appearance.He has to be suspicious about a guy like that’s motives. Why would he suddenly want him when he couldn’t have him? It doesn’t add up.

Ian dials Mandy as he’s walking toward the El.

“Hello?” Mandy answers in a meek voice that he’s never heard from her before.

“What the fuck, Mandy?” he asks brusquely.

“He made me tell him where you were, but I swear I only did it because of some stuff he said to me, and he seemed actually genuine for once in his life, and I guess I couldn’t say no. I mean, I did say no a few times, but then I guess I caved. He promised he wouldn’t be an asshole or ruin anything for you with that other guy. I know I shouldn’t have done it, though. I’m probly a shitty friend. I’m sorry, Ian!”

“Okay, whoa, calm down. I guess it. . . I guess it kinda worked out anyway. But it was the weirdest shit ever, and it totally put me on the spot. I had to agree to go on another date with your fucking psycho brother.”

“You said yes?” she asks enthusiastically.

“I had to! He wouldn’t fucking leave!”

“Oh my god.” Mandy laughs.

“It’s not funny, bitch! It’s like blackmail. I don’t know why he thinks that’s gonna make me change my mind about anything. I probly shouldn’t even go. I’ll just back out.”

“No! I mean, he’ll just keep doing his weird version of, like, courtship or whatever. He won’t leave you alone if you don’t follow through.”

“Do you know how crazy that sounds?”

“Look, I know Mickey’s kinda. . . unconventional.” Ian snorts at the generous word choice. “But he’s never acted like this before about a guy. Ever. Like, _ever_ ever. Whatever reason he started feeling attached to you, I don’t know. . . he really feels it.”

Ian thinks about Mickey’s tentative sincerity kind of shining through back there. It was a pretty ballsy move to come there like that, not knowing what would happen, and barely even knowing what to say. And despite what little he actually knows of Mickey, it’s obvious that Mandy’s right about him not usually acting like that. Maybe Ian should try to feel flattered and go from there. His mind unwittingly flashes back to the photo of Mickey’s plump, round ass, looking pinchable, biteable, and 100% fuckable, as well as the photo of his hard, red, cock curving up towards his belly, balls taut as his dumbass tattooed hands framed it all. Okay, maybe Ian’s dick had twitched a little when he saw them, and maybe he had contemplated taking screenshots before they’d unceremoniously disappeared.

Maybe he’s a little attracted to Mickey.

Maybe.

He checks his watch, contemplating.

“What’s your address?”

 

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** MICKEY **

 

He’s drinking a can of beer with his feet kicked up on the coffee table, watching some shitty B-movie full of mediocre action sequences when there’s a knock on the door. No one ever knocks on their door, let alone at 10:30 PM. Everyone knows Mandy works Saturday nights, and Mickey doesn’t order up booty calls to his place. He goes over to theirs. Less potential complications.

He’s stunned into silence when the knocker turns out to be Ian, looking a little pissed, but still pretty good. A little bit nicer than he’d looked on his date with Mickey, to be honest, but maybe that’s just a psychological thing.

“You need to explain yourself,” he states plainly.

“Thought I already did,” replies Mickey.

“No. You didn’t explain anything, actually. You just kind of demanded and coerced, but I still don’t get why you did it.”

Mickey’s not entirely sure either, or at least, he doesn’t have any idea how to express it. He’s never put himself out there like that before. It’s kind of an _Invasion of the Bodysnatchers_ sort of situation, except he’s still him. Something about Ian just fucks him up, apparently.

He ends up kind of just shrugging and raising his eyebrows.

“I mean, it’s obviously just the thrill of the chase,” Ian continues. “Maybe you’re not used to being rejected, I don’t know.”

Mickey sighs long and deep. “Can we not do this on my fuckin’ doorstep? Just come inside.” He waves him in, turning and leaving the door open for Ian to follow.

He sinks back into the shabby couch, and takes a swig of his beer. Ian stands awkwardly off to the side, still looking baffled.

“You can sit down, man,” Mickey tells him, nodding at the stuffed chair nearest him.

Ian looks up at the ceiling as if asking for patience, but takes the seat.

“Are you going to say anything?” Ian asks after a long pause.

“I really, honestly, don’t know what to tell you. I just took a risk and followed my instincts. It’s not like a thing I normally do.”

Ian looks down at his knees. “Yeah, Mandy mentioned that.”

“You talked to Mandy?”

“How do you think I found out where you live? I’ve never been over here before. She always meets me.”

“You really gonna go out with me again?” Mickey inquires.

“I don’t know. Where do you wanna go?”

Mickey sniggers. “I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. I don’t really do a whole lot. I’m like the most boring person alive.”

That gets a small smile from Ian, who looks him in the eye then. “You hunted me down to ask me out, and you don’t even know where you wanna take me?”

“I know. I’m a fuck-up. Maybe if you hadn’t just shown up tonight, I woulda texted you tomorrow or somethin’. Thought about it a bit more.”

“Yeah, it sucks when someone surprises you out of nowhere, huh?” jokes Ian.

“I’m fuckin’ sorry, okay?” Mickey says with a smile.

Ian laughs, and Mickey feels better. “Why don’t we just hang out here? Isn’t that what you wanted to do tonight anyway?”

Mickey looks around his drab living room. He normally doesn’t care much about his surroundings. They feel incidental, and there’s a comfort in it being all he’s ever really known, but as the scene of a make-up date with someone he can’t figure out how to impress, it seems underwhelming. That swanky-looking fuck that had taken Ian out earlier probably had all kinds of big ideas for things to do with guys, plus the money to do it. Still, there was always something about being in public that felt uncomfortable to Mickey. He was more of a homebody, for better or for worse.

“You want me to invite you over _here_?”

“Or. . . I’m already over here. We could just do it now.”

Mickey’s stomach drops. Of course. Ian just wants to get this over with. This way he holds up his end of the bargain, but doesn’t have to put any extra effort or time into it. He can go through the motions, and in an hour or two, he can tell Mickey it’s not gonna turn into anything, and he can go home and forget that Mickey ever existed.

“Uhhhh. . .” Mickey hums lamely.

Ian takes off his jacket, and takes pity on Mickey’s discomfort, getting up and walking toward the couch to sit next to him.

“You wanted to start over, so. . . Hi, I’m Ian.” He offers his hand.

Mickey never shakes hands with people. That would require a level of civil formality he’s never really adhered to growing up Milkovich. He rolls his eyes a little, but smirks slightly as he complies, taking Ian’s hand. “Mickey.”

“Nice to meet you, Mickey. Mandy’s told me a lot about you.”

“Yeah?”

“No, not really.” They laugh. “She told me a few things. You might’ve told me a couple things too, but you’re still kind of a mystery.”

“At least I got that goin’ for me.” Mickey can feel himself freezing up. Ian is finally thawing to him, but it doesn’t make Mickey any less of an inept dumbass who doesn’t know how to talk to people. _‘Date questions. Date questions.’_ “So, you’re an EMT,” he finally says.

Ian smiles. “I am.”

“How’d you get into that?”

“It’s kind of a story like out of a movie or something, actually. I was walking across a bridge one night, and suddenly there was this car crash behind me. I turned around and this car was all smashed up and smoking, and the lady at the wheel was passed out, so I ran over and tried to get her door open, but it was locked, and the window was cracked, so I kinda just finished breaking it, and while I was unbuckling her, the hood caught fire. I pulled her out and dragged her away, and laid her out, and called 911. The whole car was burning by the time the firemen got there, and then an EMT helped me with an oxygen tank, cuz I inhaled a lotta smoke. I stayed there for like an hour and watched them work. I don’t know, it seemed like something positive and significant that I could may be do. Doesn’t require too much schooling. So I started looking into it, and that’s that, I guess.”

Fucking Superman. “Damn, dude. Can’t really compete with all that.”

“It’s not a competition. What you do is important too. If no one did what you do, we’d be living in a fucking trash heap like _Wall-E_.”

Mickey almost chokes snorting into his swig of beer. “ _Wall-E_?”

“Yeah. You’ve never seen _Wall-E_?”

“Do I look like a 5-year-old to you? I only even know what it is cuz I’ve seen the picture on Netflix.”

“Okay, granted, I may have seen it because of my younger siblings, but it’s actually kind of an amazing movie.”

“I’ll take your word for it. I don’t watch cartoons.”

“Not even adult cartoons?”

“Okay, I don’t watch kid cartoons. I'm not a fuckin’ Disney guy.”

“Really? You? I woulda guessed huge _Little Mermaid_ fan. Maybe _Brave_?”

“Why, wise guy?”

“Cuz the main characters are spunky redheads.” Ian smiles and waggles his eyebrows.

Okay, so he’s flirting now. What the fuck?

“ _Spunky_ , you say?” Mickey jests, pursing his lips.

Ian laughs. “Filled with spunk, I am.”

“Alright, Dirty Yoda. I do remember lovin’ the cartoon _Robin Hood_ when I was little, so there you go. That’s my favorite Disney movie.”

“That actually sounds completely appropriate. I shoulda figured.”

Mickey feels infinitely more relaxed now that they’ve managed to settle into easy conversation. It makes him feel like even more of an ass for fucking up so royally to begin with. They could’ve had this that first night. But he’s always so predisposed to be hard to the point of being unyielding.

“You got another beer?” asks Ian, settling himself back into the couch with more confidence.

“Yeah. Yeah, for sure.”

Mickey goes to the kitchen and grabs two more cans, then makes a detour to his room to grab his weed and his bong. He sets it all down on the coffee table.

“In case you’re interested.”

“I’m down.” Ian cracks the beer, and taps it to the one Mickey’s holding in his hand before he can even react.

“Of course you’d be a toaster,” mocks Mickey.

“A _Brave Little Toaster_ ,” Ian puns.

Mickey rolls his eyes. “You need to stop.”

“You need to stop this terrible movie you’re watching,” counters Ian, leaning forward to set his beer down and grab the bowl out of Mickey’s bong. “Mind if I pack it?”

Mickey shakes his head and reaches for the remote. “Go ahead.”

Ian starts breaking up Mickey’s weed, cleaning the ash out of the bowl, and packing it as Mickey scrolls through streaming options.

“Given how abysmal your taste appears to be, and how badly you fucked up our first meeting, I should be the one who picks the movie,” Ian informs him.

“Fine, but I got veto power.”

Ian chuckles. “You think I’m gonna pick something you wouldn’t be into?”

Mickey levels him with a glare. “As some kinda petty revenge? Yeah.”

Ian shakes his head, “You would deserve it.”

Mickey watches him take an impressive hit from the bong, his lungs apparently as big as his mouth, the large quantity of smoke he exhales hovering around him like a cloud.

Ian turns to him to pass the weed, and Mickey knows in that moment that he made the right choice in pursuing him despite being continuously shut down. There was something he couldn’t ignore that kind of whispered to him that Ian would be a good match. That he could meet him on some unspoken level, and understand why Mickey was the way he was. Maybe Ian was starting to see it too.

Ian snatches the remote from his hand before he lets go of the lighter, and Mickey feels content as he watches him scroll through titles.

“Maybe there’s something neither of us have ever seen,” says Ian, staring at the screen. “So we can both have the full first-time experience.”

Mickey doesn’t really have to say it aloud, but everything with Ian already feels like a first time.

 

 

 


	3. Intimacy

**1 Week**

**IAN**

The following Saturday night finds Ian and Mickey hanging out at The Violet Crown, the bar Mandy works at in Central Chicago, near The Loop. It’s far enough outside of the South Side not to be rundown and low rent, but not far North enough to be upmarket and swanky. It makes things comfortable for people like them, without being intimidating, and it’s only a handful of L stops away from New City.

They’ve hung out together a couple of times since last weekend, so technically, this is their fourth date already, but it’s the first time they’ve dared to venture out into the real world together since their disastrous first meeting, so in a way it’s still a bit of a test for their budding relationship.

Things have been going surprisingly well, which still slightly puzzles Ian, if he’s being honest, but there’s also a part of him that’s never felt so comfortable with any guy this early on before. There’s definitely still some apprehension there. How could there not be, considering their origin story? But, there’s also a greater sense of hopefulness he hasn’t felt in a long time now. It almost feels like a kind of… happiness. Who knew he needed some foul-mouthed, uneven-tempered, reformed thug to fully bring him out of his months-long depression?

“I fuckin’ told you, dude! Total fag!” Mickey crows in delight.

Ian does a cursory glance around to make sure no one in their vicinity is overhearing and taking offense. Mickey has no filter, completely untethered by any kind of PC-ness, even when it comes to gayness. He could easily be mistaken for some no-homo neanderthal to someone who didn’t know any better.

Ian smirks. “Guess I’ll have to start listening to his music, then.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Mickey says, cringing. “Just sayin’, ‘would bang.’”

Ian laughs and toasts him with his shot of whiskey, and they throw them back.

“Well, if he’s ever in Chicago, I’ll make sure to keep you on a short leash.”

Mickey severely quirks one eyebrow. Ian really loves his eyebrow game, to be honest. “Kinky, Gallagher.”

Ian smiles again, but kind of gulps as Mickey gives him a thirsty once over, and catches Mandy’s knowing look as she passes by them to tend to someone at the other end of the bar.

The thing is… despite them both being admittedly on the slutty side, normally, they’ve yet to have sex with each other. In fact, they’ve yet to even _kiss_. There’s not really a particular reason for it, other than the strange tentativeness they both seem to harbor toward each other because of the way they met.

The last two times Ian was over at Mickey’s, the night ended with some very awkward staring and hugging. Ian even high-fived him one time, which was like, _the worst._ He felt like he’d never made a move on someone before, and had no idea how to engage. He also got the sense that Mickey wasn’t really a kisser. He hadn’t outright said it, but the other night when Ian had boldly inched his face forward like he might actually seal the deal finally, Mickey had sort of leaned away and punched him on the arm like a bro friend.

Basically, they’re out of sync when it comes to physical connection. Everything else is great. It’s an odd situation for Ian to find himself in. He’s too embarrassed to even bring it up with Mandy so he can ask for advice. Something’s gotta give soon, though, or else things’ll just get too weird to salvage, and they’ll crash and burn while still on the stupid runway.

“So, how much are you taking advantage of Mandy’s free drink allowance tonight?” asks Ian, veering off the subject of potential kinks.

Mickey rolls his eyes. “She gave me a fuckin’ five drink maximum, no more than two nights a week. Total bullshit, since she gave no stipulations when she made the bet initially, but she was cryin’ to me about ‘spillage’ limits and shit, which is why she’s still makin’ me pay for your ass.”

Ian grins. “Ain’t gotta pay for mine, Mick. I’m a big boy with a paycheck.”

“Nah, I got it tonight. It’s like a two-for-one deal, so I don’t mind.”

“Oh, I see, so I don’t rate full price,” he jokes.

“Come on, man, I paid for that fuckin’ club sandwich and fancy beer over at that hipster diner, didn’t I? And I even left 20% like you asked. That’s like unheard of for me.”

“Um, that was the least I deserved for putting up with your shit. And you should really think about how you treat underpaid workers who depend on tips, seeing as you yourself come from a low income background, and know what it’s like to struggle.”

Mickey rolls his eyes, “Yeah, alright, boy scout. You can keep tellin’ me all the shit I’m doin’ wrong every time we’re out somewhere. Can’t wait.”

Ian smiles again at the thought of future outings. “We need another round.”

“YO, MANDY, SOME FUCKIN’ SERVICE!” Mickey booms right by Ian’s unsuspecting ear, banging on the bar-top.

“Jesus!” Ian shoves at his arm. “Fucking warn me next time, asshole.”

Mickey laughs as Mandy approaches with a scowl already in place.

“Stop fucking hollering at me like an animal, you prick,” she warns. “Just because you’re my brother doesn’t mean you can disrespect me at my own bar. I’ll get George to toss your sorry ass out if you get on my last nerve.”

“Sorry, Mandy,” Ian chimes in.

Mandy and Mickey both shoot him a dirty look. “Don’t apologize for him!” she chastises.

Ian shrugs, ducking his head.

“Will you just get us a couple Jack and Cokes, hold the fuckin’ commentary?” asks Mickey. Mandy stares at him pointedly, not moving. “Please?” he adds.

She walks toward the liquor bay, flipping him off as she goes.

Ian thinks they’re kind of adorable together. It’s like a constant back-and-forth of affectionate insults and begrudging, hard-earned sibling empathy.

A couple rounds later, they’re both five liquor drinks deep, and Ian is feeling the effects in the form of tipsy overconfidence. He has one hand pawing at Mickey’s jean-clad thigh, while he leans on the bar with the other, and he’s pretty sure he’s gazing into Mickey’s intoxicating light blue eyes with an extremely goofy look on his face.

Mickey bashfully pushes Ian’s head away multiple times, but he keeps a big open smile on his face the whole time, so Ian knows he’s not actually annoyed. Plus, he hasn’t even tried to pry Ian’s wandering hand away, so maybe they both needed a little liquid courage.

“So, uhhh… it’s gettin’ late,” says Mickey meaningfully.

“Oh yeah?” says Ian, looking at his watch. “’S barely midnight.”

“Do I need to remind you of my usual 6 AM wake-up time?”

Ian shakes his head and rubs Mickey’s knee with his thumb. “I have shifts that start earlier than that sometimes, but I cut loose on the weekends.”

“Yeah, well, good for you, I’m still tired as shit.”

“You wanna call it a night?”

“Dunno. Do you?”

They stare at each other for a beat too long, and before Ian can think about it any longer and talk himself out of it, he leans in and kisses Mickey’s plush pink lips. He feels Mickey’s hand snake up his chest, and for a second he thinks he’s about to be pushed away, but the hand just rests there as they deepen the lip-lock, and Ian kind of sighs a little when Mickey licks into his mouth, giving a kind of permission for Ian to add some tongue too. His right hand slides from Mickey’s knee up his thigh again, and he brings his other hand up to grip the back of his head.

He feels a little bit dizzy, but also like this is exactly right.

And just as he’s thinking that they’ve finally managed to click into place on a physical level, Mandy’s biting voice cuts through their cloud of passion to declare, “You two are fucking disgusting. Get a room!”

They pull apart at the same time and chuckle, but the yearning in their eyes is still there shining.

  


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**MICKEY**

Reality slowly trickles in as Mickey’s jostled awake by a warm body settling itself behind him. He scrunches his face up in alarm as an arm comes around to grip his waist. ‘ _The fuck?_ ’ His whole body tenses as his brain works to catch up with his fresh alertness. He hasn’t woken up with somebody in his bed… _ever_. He can’t even remember the last time he had sex in his own house. It’s not something he’s ever been that into doing. His space is sacred.

But then he remembers last night, and who it is that stayed over.

“You awake?” a croaky voice breathes again his neck.

Ian.

He smiles a little, but reaches for the arm wrapped around him and places it on the mattress as he sits up at the side of the bed and reaches for a cigarette.

“Apparently,” he replies, glancing back to see Ian’s sleepy face grinning back at him as he lights the smoke.

“Too early to look that happy, dopehead.”

He hears an actual giggle behind him, and shakes his head in amused annoyance as Ian answers, “Just thinkin’ about last night.”

Mickey takes a deep drag and blows it toward his nicotine-stained ceiling. “Nothin’ good even happened, man.”

There’s a momentary pause, before a pillow hits him across the side of his face, then across his back.

“The fuck, Gallagher?” he cries, stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette, and turning to fix Ian with a hard stare, but he just gets hit with the pillow again.

“Nothing happened? _Nothing happened_?” Ian trills. “Just because we didn’t fuck, doesn’t mean nothing happened. In case you’ve forgotten, we’d never even kissed before last night.”

As if he could forget. Until last night, the pair of them couldn’t seem to find one sexy foot to put forward. They’d both behaved like giant balls of tense energy vibrating at frequencies that just didn’t mesh. It hadn’t helped that Mickey wasn’t used to really being with anyone in a way beyond either friendship or sex. This was like a mixture of the two, or was supposed to be. And figuring out how to navigate ‘romance’ appeared to be outside of his interpersonal wheelhouse. So every time Ian had gotten that look in his eye, or leaned in like he was going to do something like maybe kiss him, Mickey had somehow managed to deflect it, and as a result, Ian would do something really lame, like hug him, or give him a goddamn high-five.

But last night, they’d managed to both get just on the right side of tipsy, one stop before drunk town, and found themselves opening doors and entering the same room for once and for all. They’d made out at the bar in plain sight, which was a highly unusual display for Mickey, then they’d come back to his place, but they hadn’t even banged. They just made out some more on the couch, then in Mickey’s bed, and passed out with their underclothes still on.

“Calm the fuck down, firecrotch. I know we got to like second base or whatever. It was cool.”

“Cool? _Cool_?” he raises the pillow in his hands.

“If you hit me with that fuckin’ pillow again, I’mma sock you in your stupid face,” Mickey warns, his forefinger pointing in emphasis.

Ian chuckles and drops the pillow. “Fine. Get the hell in the bathroom and do your morning routine, then get back in here so we can do some more ‘nothing.’”

Mickey can’t help the small smile that escapes, but he quickly turns to follow Ian’s instructions, because apparently he’s a bitch like that for this dude already.

He returns to find Ian’s dozed off again, so Mickey watches him for a minute, marveling at the fact that he enjoys the sight. Not just of Ian, but of Ian in _his_ bed, in _his_ room, in _his_ house. It’s so strange not to feel the urge to throw him out as soon as possible. It doesn’t hurt that the man who’s somehow managed to start busting down his walls looks so fucking good in a white tank and striped boxers. His body is ripped, but lean, and it’s definitely getting Mickey hard.

He flops back onto the bed heedlessly, and rolls toward Ian, who pries one eye open.

“Hey,” he says with minty-fresh breath. He’d obviously beat Mickey to the bathroom this morning.

“Hey,” Mickey replies softly, rubbing Ian’s cheek with his thumb, surprising the hell out of both of them again.

Ian laughs. “You’re sweet in the morning.”

“‘Ey, don’t fuckin’ push your luck.”

“Never,” Ian promises, pulling him forward so that their mouths meet again.

He’s never kissed anyone slow and soft before, but here he is. Ian’s mouth is nice and big, his tongue soft and slick, his lips firm and full. Mickey’s not much of a kisser, but Ian is kind of changing his mind about it. Soon enough, they’re putting their whole bodies into it. Ian slips a leg between his, and their rough body hair rubs together, as their hands roam over chests and arms and backs. Mickey hikes a leg up higher so that it’s over Ian’s hip, and presses against him a little harder. Ian groans and runs a hand up Mickey’s leg from foot to thigh and gropes his ass, so Mickey takes that as a cue to rut against him. He can feel Ian getting as hard as he is, and that big hand gets more purposeful on his ass, pulling it apart a little, so that Mickey shudders in anticipation.

He slips a hand underneath Ian’s tank and tweaks his nipple, earning another muffled moan. They break their kiss, and Ian attaches his mouth to the side of Mickey’s throat, then slips a hand inside the back of his boxers. Mickey’s hand wanders down to finally palm at Ian’s erection through the fabric of his underwear. It’s mouth-wateringly big. He felt it some last night, but not like this.

“You wanna?” Ian breathes wetly against his neck.

“Course I wanna,” Mickey says, practically jacking the redhead off without direct contact.

“Fuck,” Ian sputters, and then he rolls himself on top of Mickey, sitting back to toss his undershirt to the side, then quickly tugging up Mickey’s to get it off.

He gets Mickey’s boxers off first, then his own, and Mickey licks his lips when he finally, _fi-nal-ly_ , sees the goods. It’s every bit as good as he dreamed it would be. He has that sixth dick sense, and being proved right makes him almost giddy.

He’s about to get wrecked.

Ian kneels between his legs and presses their bodies together, claiming his lips again as he grinds against him. Mickey reaches an arm behind him to the place he keeps the lube in the cabinet built into his headboard, and pushes it against Ian’s chest.

Ian chuckles as he pulls away, and sits back to squeeze some onto his fingers. “What, no foreplay?”

Mickey shakes his head, and fumbles with the bedside drawer where he keeps his box of condoms. He usually just shoves a couple into his wallet on the way out the door, but this time he lays one on his chest for when Ian finishes prepping him.

“We can take our time later, big guy. Right now, I just wanna feel that monster in me.”

Ian shoves a lubed finger in, leaning down to kiss him again, and Mickey reaches down to jerk Ian’s cock as he relaxes into the intrusion. As soon as he feels loose enough, he opens the condom and rolls it down Ian’s length, then squirts some lube into his hand and strokes his latexed dick again.

Ian kisses down his chin, his chest, his stomach, takes Mickey’s cock in his mouth for just a bit, then continues down, mouthing at his balls, then his hole, spreading Mickey’s legs apart wider, then getting into position. He holds him open at the knees as he presses in, and Mickey moans long and rugged at the deep push that seems to go on forever. Ian’s knees surround his ass on both sides, and when he slides fully into place at last, they seem to fit together just right. Ian gives him a kind of dirty smile he hasn’t yet seen him wear, then pulls back to start pistoning into him. He breaks eye contact to look down and watch himself fucking Mickey’s wanting hole. It makes Mickey bite his lip and grab at his own cock, the ‘FUCK’ on his hand becoming a blur as he they both move faster and faster.

He doesn’t think his ass has ever felt fuller. Doesn’t think any dick has ever pounded him better. Holy shit, he’s glad that Ian can really fuck. It would’ve been a tragedy if he hadn’t known how to use that big cock. Would’ve been such a let down if their bodies had never gotten on the same wavelength.

But this is no tragedy at all. This is fucking _bliss_.

He pulls Ian down to his mouth again, and rolls them over as they make out, keeping Ian firmly inside him, then pinning his arms down as he begins to ride him.

“Oh, fuck, Mick,” Ian groans when he pulls away, gripping at Mickey’s straining thighs as he lifts himself up and down, moving his hands to press at Ian’s chest.

He doesn’t get on top a lot, but when he does, he goes to fucking town. He loses control and all he can think about is chasing that dick. And this dick is so good. So fucking big. He’s going to have to thank Ian later just for having it and giving it to him. Seriously, he’s about to say ‘thank you’ for some dude’s cock for the first time in his life, and not even give a flying fuck.

He wants it so bad. He doesn’t want it to end. But he also _needs_ it to end. Needs to get to that glorious finish line. He can taste it… reach out and touch it. It’s almost fucking there.

Ian touches him then, right where he needs it. Releases one hand from its bruising grip on his hips to slide the pre-cum oozing out of him up and down his aching cock.

Mikey’s thighs work harder and faster, as he slams down onto Ian, asshole squeezing purposefully around his dick.

“God, Mickey! Yes!”

His hand squeezes harder at Mickey’s hip as the other speeds up on his cock. Mickey moans loud and deep. Close. So fucking close. Ian’s hitting all the right spots inside him, his hole feeling tighter and tighter around that girth as he gets closer and closer. His balls are almost painful with the need to release.

Ian sits up and leans back on his arms, thrusting upward to meet Mickey’s hard slams down, and it’s like a fucking freight-train coming to smash into him. He tugs his own dick again and grips Ian’s shoulder as he starts to come. His eyes squeeze shut and he leans his head against Ian’s as he shouts his orgasm, gushing jizz all over them both. He stills in Ian’s lap for a moment, too spent to move, then gives a kind of surprised cry out when Ian flips him again and fucks into his sensitive ass for another minute or two until he comes too, collapsing into Mickey’s arms as soon as the last spurt leaves him.

There’s all kinds of sweat between them, and they stick together from head to toe. And usually Mickey would say to get the hell off him, but he doesn’t really mind. They breathe heavily into each other’s ears, then Ian pulls back and kisses him sweetly, brushing the soaked hair stuck to his forehead away.

Mickey looks into his eyes and knows he’s totally fucked.

  


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**1 Month**

**IAN**

They have their first major fight two days before Ian’s 24th birthday, because of course they do. It’s a little bit Mandy’s fault in a roundabout way, but ultimately the true guilt lies with Mickey as far as Ian’s concerned. _He’s_ the emotionally stunted fuckhead.

He’s over at the Milkovich house hanging out, as he’s wont to do these days, when he’s not busy rescuing people for a living. His siblings have even been giving him shit for being so scarce, but he’d tried to at least put Fiona in her place by reminding her that when he was down she nagged at him for being home too much, and now that he’d become happy again, she was mad he was away too often. She shut up after that, and Ian did an internal dance at getting one up on her.

He and Mickey are relaxing on the couch, not even being grossly affectionate or anything, just watching TV, sipping cheap beers and smoking cigarettes, even though Ian’s been trying to quit, what with being a healthcare professional and getting constant lectures and literature on the dangers of long-term addiction. Sometimes he even spouts off about it to Mickey, who glowers at him and snarls carbon monoxide out his nostrils until Ian shuts up.

Mandy comes through the door after an easy day shift at the bar, and sits down in the old stuffed chair to chat with them before presumably retreating to her room for the evening. They exchange the usual small talk about their days and such, before she brings up Ian’s upcoming celebration.

“How big’s the party gonna be anyway?” she asks.

Ian shrugs, swigging his beer. “Not very. Just my family and a few friends, and I guess whoever’s already at the bar. The old drunk regulars who never have any place better to be.”

She makes a face. “You know, you can still change the venue to my bar, right? I can swing you my employee discount for the night.”

He shakes his head. “Nah, it’s just easier this way. Fiona won’t have to schlep all the kids too far away, and it’ll be cheaper all around. Kev’ll hook it up. But, thanks, though. I’d rather do it over there if it were viable.”

“Ugh,” Mandy grumbles. “Guess I’ll have to put up with the usual neighborhood bullshit for one night.”

Ian chuckles. “You can handle yourself fine from what I’ve seen.” He’d seen her whip out an actual baton and club two dudes over the head with it before. It was kind of awe-inspiring.

“What about you?” Mandy asks Mickey, who’s been somewhat uncharacteristically quiet all afternoon, really. “Ready to meet the ol’ boyfriend’s family?”

Ian’s actual breath seems to get stuck in his throat, and his head snaps over to gauge Mickey’s reaction to his sister’s words. At first it seems like Mickey is taking it in stride. His eyebrows do raise a little, but nowhere near full height on his forehead. But then his mouth seems to get a little bit tight, and his neck kind of spasms as it tenses as well. And the silence stretches out a little too long.

Finally he says, “Whatever,” in a very lackluster way, and the whole room fills up with nervous energy.

Ian shoots Mandy a look, and she silently apologizes with her eyes and the general look on her face. Ian just turns away and takes a long pull off the beer can in his hand.

Since no one seems to know what to say to fill the awkward quiet, Mandy promptly mumbles an excuse to get up and leave. Ian stares at the TV unseeing, reeling from what is definitely an overreaction on Mickey’s part, by way of under-reacting. But how is Ian supposed to address this? It’s kind of a big topic that they’ve been steadfastly avoiding up until now.

What are they to each other? What does dating mean to them? Etcetera, etcetera.

They’re both gun-shy for different reasons. Ian, for being on the rebound from a painful break-up, and Mickey for never having been involved with anyone seriously before at all. It’s a bit of a conundrum.

And now, all too soon, it seems like the trivial fact of Ian having a birthday is forcing the issue to the surface before they really know how to deal with it. There’re some things you have to walk on eggshells for around Mickey, and getting him to admit feelings is definitely one of those things.

After about ten or fifteen minutes, the silence becomes insufferably stifling, and Ian can’t contain himself any longer.

“So, we gonna fucking talk about this or what?” he burst forth a little too loudly.

Mickey doesn’t even look at him. “Talk about what?”

Ian huffs his exasperation. “You know exactly what, Mickey. You’re totally freaked out because Mandy casually called me your boyfriend.”

“Not freaked out,” he replies in the same monotone.

“Oh really? Cuz you’re not even looking at me, and that’s not really normal behavior for you. In fact, you’ve been acting strange all day. I’m guessing cuz you’re also freaked out about meeting my family so soon. You’ve been thinking too much about shit and what it means, and now you’re acting really weird towards me.”

Mickey settles him with a hard stare. “There, I’m lookin’ at you. Happy?”

Ian’s brow furrows. “Not really, no. You’re being a fucking baby right now.”

“Fuck you.” He looks away again and chugs his beer, crushing the can and flinging it at the wall.

“Way to prove me wrong. So tough!”

Mickey fixes him with an ugly look again. “You don’t wanna pick a fuckin’ fight with me, Gallagher. That’s not a good idea.”

“I wasn’t _trying_ to pick a fight with you, dickhead. I was trying to start a conversation, but you just can’t do anything easily and calmly. You gotta make a big deal about it. You’re the one geared up for a fight. Big, tough man!”

Mickey throws up a fist, like a threat, cocked toward Ian’s face, pulling it back before it lands. “You want me to fuckin’ hit you?”

Ian really hates the way he can feel his eyes welling up with tears, but he’s not one to back down either. “Go ahead, Mick. See if it makes you feel better.”

Mickey’s bright blue eyes are piercing as they study Ian’s, and he drops his fist as his body seems to sag in defeat. “What the fuck do you want from me, Ian? I’m doin’ all I can.”

“Are you, though?” Ian asks. And he’s partially asking himself that too.

Mickey and him have gotten more and more comfortable over the last few weeks, since they started being physical, and all. They even have an easy rapport when it comes to mundane things. But they’re just not on the level of talking about commitment, which should be fine. It’s only been a month. You don’t have to outright declare your intentions in so short a time, but the thing is that Ian knows he needs to be at least taken seriously. Just because Mickey is letting him in in a way he hasn’t let other dudes in before, doesn’t mean that he’ll be able to put himself out there enough to go the distance with Ian. Doesn’t mean that he’ll put Ian first, or even agree to be exclusive. They’ve been spending so much time together that he’s pretty sure Mickey hasn’t been fucking anyone else, but he doesn’t know for sure.

Ian deleted his dating apps off his phone, but he never asked Mickey to, and he’s not sure if he has or not. He’s not desperate enough to go searching for his profile. Or maybe he’s just worried about what he might find if he did. Still, he tries to be reasonable. It’s only been a month. They’re gay guys in their 20s. It’s okay to not define things for now. Especially with someone inexperienced and skittish. Even if Mickey has no intention of looking for dick elsewhere, the notion of potential independence could actually work in Ian’s favor. Letting things get more serious organically, without demands… it seems like the most logical thing to do.

But yeah, he likes Mickey a whole lot. And yeah, he’s been fucking burned before. Badly. So, yeah, maybe he’s a little paranoid. And maybe he doesn’t know what the fucking big deal is to just imply that they’re in it together now. Defined parameters or not.

Mickey kicks the coffee table so that it skids away slightly. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Ian sighs heavily, his head falling into his hands. “I don’t even know. Just… you won’t talk to me about us, and so now everything just seems too… important. I know it hasn’t been that long since we started seeing each other, but I mean… people are asking questions we don’t know how to answer. So maybe it’s time to define what this is.”

“Why you askin’ _me_? How the fuck should I know?”

“I’m letting you take the wheel on this. I’m not trying to push you into a corner. I haven’t even asked you about other guys, have I? But I don’t know if I can just keep assuming, either.”

“Assumin’ what? That when we’re not together, I’m out bangin’ other dudes? I may not know a lot about relationships, but that’s some codependent psycho bullshit!”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Then just _say_ what the fuck you mean!”

“It’s pretty simple, Mickey, I just wanna know if you take me seriously. If you wanna be with me, and only me. Because I wanna be with you. And that means not freaking the fuck out whenever one of our sisters calls us boyfriends. It means that people know we’re together. Means your not lookin’ for anyone else anymore.”

Mickey scrunches his nose, then flicks it with his thumb a few times, leg shaking as he reaches for his smokes again, turning his face away obstinately.

Ian waits for an answer with bated breath, gaze focussing on a battered corner of the table.

“Yeah, well, maybe I have to think about that,” Mickey says.

Ian lets out a small unamused laugh and shoots to his feet, gathering up his shoes and jacket and carrying them with him towards the front door as he rides his righteous wave of furious adrenaline.

He pauses at the threshold and glances back. “Fuck you, Mickey.”

He doesn’t know if he’s ever said those words so venomously before. He probably has, but he hopes he hasn’t. He lets himself out and sits on the top step of the Milkovich stoop and quickly does up his boots, shrugging on his outerwear and rushing home as fast as his feet will carry him.

_‘Happy fucking birthday to me.’_

  


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**MICKEY**

Mickey knows he fucked up. But that doesn’t mean he knows how to fix it. He’s a stubborn motherfucker, as anyone who’s ever known him will attest. A part of him is genuinely pissed at Ian for turning this whole thing into an ultimatum for all intents and purposes. But the larger part of him knows that after everything they’ve gone through together to get to this point, even in such a short amount of time, exclusivity isn’t really an unreasonable request for Ian to be making.

It’s just that the idea of giving into Ian completely and admitting to being in a real live full-fledged relationship is pretty much terrifying on every level. And for the record, he hasn’t fucked around with anyone else since he started up with Ian. But if he still has his Scruff account open just as a kind of safety net for shit not working out, what’s the harm really? He hadn’t even opened it, or scrolled it in weeks. He’d blown off that one hot guy he’d been chasing before the dude had finally started chasing him back. It just felt comfortable knowing there was a kind of lifeline. That he was still the same ‘fuck-whoever-I-want’ dude he always was, if the mood should strike. It meant he wasn’t being tied down. It meant freedom.

But Ian kept him plenty occupied, and plenty satisfied on top of that. Every day that passed, the thoughts of using that lifeline receded farther and farther away.

Still, the thought of just completely cutting it off; of having to _declare_ himself a part of a monogamous relationship all of a sudden… that didn’t sit well with him. Maybe it was just him being a pussy, but so the fuck what? Ian knew who he was when they started this whole mess. And okay, maybe Mickey is the one who forced Ian into liking him back with all his insane antics that now felt as if they’d been performed by some other person entirely, but he never made any promises. And now that’s what Ian was asking for. A promise of _intent_ , or whatever-the-fuck. He’d given himself a headache just thinking about all this stupid shit all day. First on the job, then at home in the evening, the first Ian-less night in something like five days.

And the thing is, he needs to sort his head out real fucking quick, because tomorrow is Ian’s birthday. He’s smart enough to know that if he bails out on that, his ass is grass and the… whatever they have between them… will be dead in the water. Murdered by his own inability to openly care for another person.

Mandy, who had definitely been eavesdropping at her door last night as he fought with Ian before he’d stormed out, had given him a good dressing down when he came home from work today. Called him a pussy at least three times, told him to get his shit together at least twice, and threatened him with castration, knee-capping, and also a head-hammering if he didn’t apologize and fix things with Ian posthaste.

“And you better show up tomorrow with a fucking killer birthday present,” was her parting order.

Mickey actually growled in frustration. He really hadn’t planned on getting Ian anything. Figured he’d just buy his drinks again and call it a day, maybe get him high. But no, he had to go and be a dick, and now he had to wrack his brain for an actual physical gift that Ian would find impressive.

Things couldn’t be going more wrong.

Mickey arrives at the Alibi a little bit late, having told Mandy to go ahead without him, so he could finish getting ready without her incessant nagging. He looks pretty good, if he does say so himself. He’d dug out his nicest button-down, and even splashed on some cologne. So what?

He immediately spots Ian surrounded by a fairly large amount of loud people laughing, hollering, and throwing back shots. It’s a bit intimidating if he’s being honest. He’s no good with strangers. Like at all. He wishes he could just have Ian to himself, so he wouldn’t have all his hackles up as the insecurities gnawed away at his guts.

He casts his eyes around for Mandy’s familiar face, because maybe she’ll take pity on him now that he’s shown up, and she could maybe help him ease into the crowd taking up Ian’s attention.

Ian spots him first, though, and his eyes get wide in surprise, but his smile sort of fades, making Mickey’s stomach plummet.

He gives a half-assed wave and ambles over to the bar, relieved when Ian makes his way to his side.

“Didn’t know if you’d show up.”

Mickey shrugs. “I’m not _that_ much of an asshole.”

“Good to know.”

Mickey doesn’t reply to that, just calls out to the barkeep for whiskey. He can feel Ian watching him, and bites his lip.

“Got anything you wanna say to me?” Ian presses.

Mickey eyes him nervously, opening his mouth to rustle up some kind of apology type thing as a tumbler of bourbon is placed in front of him, but then his gaze finds a face he wasn’t expecting to see tonight, and his mind flips a switch. “The fuck is _he_ doin’ here?”

Ian follows his eyeline. “Who, Mike?”

“Yeah. Fuckin’ _Mike_. The fuck Ian?”

“We’re friends now. He’s here being a friend.”

“Oh really? So he just suddenly doesn’t wanna jump your bones anymore? Thought you yelled at me the other day cuz you wanted us to be exclusive and shit. Or was that you breakin’ up with me when you stormed out?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Mick. I just said that Mike and I are friends now. That has nothing to do with you. We haven’t even kissed before. It’s not like that between us. You threw all the salt on that game when you crashed our first and only date. Yeah, we had a fight the other day, but I didn’t leave you. Or at least, I don’t think you can break up with someone you’re not even actually with yet, can you?”

Mickey rolls his eyes. “This more of you forcin’ me to admit that we’re together?”

Ian sighs exasperatedly. “Mickey, you showed up here tonight knowing my friends and family would be here, and I fucking told you exactly what I want from you the other day. It’s up to you how you wanna play it. Just make a choice. I’m gonna go back to my table now. Hope you’ll join us when you feel like it.”

He turns to leave as Mickey throws his full drink back, reveling in the burn. “Wait!” he calls.

Ian turns toward him once more, raising his eyebrows in question. Mickey pulls out a very poorly wrapped present he’d scrounged up and holds it out for Ian to take.

A small smile slips as he accepts it. “You got me a present?”

Mickey shrugs. “Don’t get too excited. Ain’t much.”

They lean against the bar, and Ian unravels a long piece of Scotch tape, then a plastic grocery bag, then some newspaper, until he gets to a pretty large bowie knife most likely made in the 1940s or thereabouts.

“Mick,” Ian gasps. “Didn’t you say this was your grandfather’s knife?”

“Yeah. I mean, we think. Not positive. Milkoviches aren’t exactly known to give a flying fuck about maintaining a familial oral history.”

“You can’t give this to me, Mick. It’s a nice thought, but I mean, it’s too much.”

Mickey snorts. “Too much? Didn’t cost me shit, Gallagher. It’s just been sittin’ around collectin’ dust in various drawers and weapon cabinets it’s gotten thrown into over the years. No one ever uses it cuz it looks old and dull. But you liked it a lot when you saw it, so I figured you should have it. It’s not a big deal, trust me, I never even met my grandad, and all I ever heard was how much of an asshole he was. It don’t got any kinda personal meaning for me. I don’t want it.”

Ian sets it down on the counter and grabs Mickey’s face in both hands, then plants one right on him in the middle of the neighborhood bar his old man always frequented between prison stays. It feels like an appropriate kind of ‘fuck you’ in absentia.

When they pull apart, Ian looks him firmly in the eye. “You done being a scared douchebag or what?”

Mickey’s mouth quirks and he licks his lips, tasting a little bit of Ian there. “I think so. I mean… I don’t want anyone else. Just so you know.”

Ian smiles widely and delightedly. “That’s all I wanted to hear. Ready to meet the fucking Gallaghers?”

Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up. “Lemme get one more drink in me first.”

  


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**1 Year**

**IAN**

Everyone’s surprised that they’ve made it this far, including the two of them. It hasn’t always been easy. There have been definite bumps in the road, and a couple times Ian was sure it was over, but ultimately the thing is that they can’t stay away from each other. Even when they screw up, or royally piss each other off, they’re drawn back into their own little bubble like magnets.

Now that they’re very close to the one year mark, Ian is sure that the dynamic they share is one that will stand the test of time. Whatever it is that binds them, largely indefinable, yet made up of pure unadulterated chemistry, it works for them, and that’s all that matters.

“‘Ey! You bringin’ a fuckin’ baseball bat?” Mickey calls out from the bedroom.

“Nah,” Ian calls back as he spreads mustard on white bread. “They’ll have plenty of gear.”

“What the hell do I need to bring then?” Mickey inquires as he enters the kitchen.

Ian has helped Mandy really spruce the place up in recent months, slowly but surely scrubbing away the main layer of grime, and tossing out tons of shit no one needed or wanted that just seemed to be lying around for no reason; buying up cheap and gently used furniture and accents to replace everything that got dumped. He’s practically moved in with them, but no one’s ever really said it aloud. Still, Ian’s pretty sure Mickey hates it more than he does when he spends the odd night alone back at the Gallagher’s.

“Feel free to wear a jockstrap if you wanna,” Ian says with a lecherous grin. “I’ll peel it off with my teeth later.”

Mickey slaps his ass on his way to the fridge. “Don’t got one, big guy, but I’ll keep that kink in mind for later.” He cracks open a can of beer.

“Mick! It’s 11 AM, you really need to start drinking already?” he adds another finished sandwich to the pile.

“You want me to hang out with a buncha rando hero types, I’m gonna drink a lotta beer. Deal with it.”

“Just take it easy, please. Try not get drunk before mid-afternoon at least?”

“Relax, Red, this is some cheap watery shit. You know my tolerance better than that.”

Ian starts bagging up the stack of cold turkey sandwiches, and transferring them to an old cooler he found at Fiona’s. “As long as you’re not a dick to anyone from my station, you can do whatever you want.”

“This Suzy Homemaker side of you is deeply disturbing, you know that, right?”

“You wanna make it through the afternoon without puking or not? The guys aren’t gonna grill until after sundown, so stop hassling me and make sure we have all our shit ready to go.”

“I literally just came in here to ask what to bring and you never said shit.”

“Just…” Ian gives his boyfriend a once over. “You look fine. I guess, make sure we have sunscreen in my backpack, and like, I don’t know, a frisbee… some chips?”

Mickey snorts derisively. “See, you suck at packing for this shit too. Dumbass.”

Ian rolls his eyes. “Just get outta here. I’ll do it myself!”

Every year, unions of EMTs, firemen, cops, and other assorted city officials have a month of special activities on the weekends where they all hang out and challenge each other to sports, and eat lots of meat, and show off their families, and drink a lot of beer. Ian skipped them all last year after his break-up with Jordan, but this year, he’s dragging Mickey along for a day in the park with this work friends.

Mickey knows a handful of them well enough by now. They don’t exactly hang out with other people all that often, but sometimes they do, and the co-workers Ian’s closest too are all from around their neighborhood, or adjacent hoods that are very similar, so Mickey doesn’t feel too out of his element around them. He’s still largely anti-social, though, so this should be an interesting long stretch of hours.

Ian bites his tongue as he endures Mickey’s grumbling from the passenger seat as they make their way across town. He’s sipping his second beer, ensconced in an ironic CPD koozie, gesturing a lot with his hands as he complains.

“Hours of my fuckin’ life, Ian. Hours!”

Ian rolls his eyes heavenward for what feels like the trillionth time in the span of an hour. “It’s one afternoon and evening of your life, Mick. One. I won’t make you do it again until a year from now, I promise.”

“Yeah, well, this is the kinda shit that really makes a case for breakin’ up with your ginger ass.”

“Okay, Mick. You can dump me in the middle of the whole gathering. Bet I can rustle up some dudes to kick your ass in defense of my honor.”

Mickey snorts. “What honor? You’re a big slut and we all know it.”

“ _Former_ slut, thank you. And look who’s fucking talking.”

“Look, once a hoe, always a hoe. You don’t unlearn the moves. That’s the part that matters.”

“I’m so sorry that I’m great in bed and always make you come so hard. Must be really difficult for you.”

“Yeah, I hate it.”

They glance at each other with wide smalls and break out into laughter.

_This_. This is why he loves Mickey. At the end of the day, it’s easy. There’s a lot of empty hardassery to cut through, but what’s underneath molds to Ian like his favorite set of cozy long johns in mid-winter.

A couple hours later, Ian watches Mickey from the ‘dugout’ area that’s actually above ground and chain-linked as he scarfs down a couple of turkey sandwiches in the stands. He’s still chugging through the 12-pack in the cooler, and is arguing animatedly with Ian’s work friend, Margie, and her wife, Pauline. They’re the only other known gay couple at Ian’s station, and it’s extremely amusing, because Mickey is not typically good with lesbians. They seem to be wanting to take him under their wing though, initially most likely out of pity from seeing him drinking alone while Ian plays ball. Now, he’s not really sure why they’re still talking. Mickey’d decided to sit out this game and shrink into his introversion, and Ian had let him, not letting it spoil his own fun.

The team of firemen and assorted friends end up winning the game, and only one brawl even breaks out the whole time. Ian thought Mickey was gonna run up from the stands to kick some ass when he got swung on, but the lesbians held him back. Ian casually spit some blood on the ground and pounded the guy in the eye with his killer right jab. Other than that, it was mostly just shoving and rolling around in the dirt. They all shook hands after.

Ian smiles as he returns to Mickey, holding his hand out for a beer. “I see you’re making friends.”

“Still thinkin’ about it. Don’t know what good lesbians even are if they can’t even play some ball,” jokes Mickey.

“‘Ey, Milkovich, I’d show you exactly what we’re good for, but it’d scar your pansy ass for life,” Margie razzes back.

Mickey makes a disgusted face. “Don’t make me hurl up the rabbit food I just ate.”

“We ain’t all fuckin’ gym teachers and sports pros, cockbreath.”

Ian smiles in delight as he swigs his beer. “Scintillating as this conversation is, can I have a fucking sandwich before I pass out?”

“Knock yourself out, killer,” Mickey says, shoving the cooler at him and following Margie and Pauline over to a picnic table as he continues throwing barbs.

They do end up tossing around the old frisbee Ian had found in a pile of crap at the house, and Mickey’s guard falls down more and more as his tongue loosens with the increasing beer intake throughout the day. Soon, he’s cracking jokes with some of the other dude’s Ian’s friends with and not even being awkwardly combative with them. He’s acting kind of like the normal human being Ian knew he ultimately was. Ian’s tickled pink about it, really. He feels giddy and light-headed, even though he’s had about a third the amount to drink that Mickey has. He’s more life-drunk, or love-drunk. Maybe a little of both.

It finally starts to get dark, and someone builds a bonfire that’s unnecessary for the season, but still cool to look at, and the men in charge of the meat start grilling stuff, which leads to drunken chants demanding to be fed. It’s all very much like they’ve been reduced to college-age tailgaters at the big home game or something.

Ian and Mickey are leaned back on Margie and Pauline’s flannel blanket, because of course, Ian hadn’t thought to put one of those in his bag. He’s even got his hand over Mickey’s, almost like he’s holding it. It’s mundanely nice.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that, Gallagher,” Mickey chastises without even glancing over at him.

“Like what!” Ian says indignantly.

“You know what,” Mickey answers, turning to meet his eye.

Ian shrugs. “Can’t help it. It’s been a good day.”

“Oh shit, Ian,” his friend Leo says from his standing position, kicking Ian’s foot to get his attention. “Pretty sure your douchebag ex is headin’ over here with some dude.”

Ian’s eyes dart over to where Leo’s are looking, and sure enough, there’s fucking Jordan, walking towards him with the guy he ditched Ian for just around a year and a half ago.

He tenses for a second, a little taken aback, then glances at Mickey, who’s eyes are narrowed at the approaching pair. Ian closes his hand around Mickey’s and squeezes it to get his attention focussed back on him.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says as their eyes meet.

“You sure?” asks Mickey.

“Hell yeah, I’m sure.” He smiles and pulls him closer. “I’m with you now. And what you and I have… it’s way better than what I had with him. I promise.”

Mickey nods, looking a little relieved.

“What’s up, guys?” Jordan says to the group at large, then, “Ian.”

Ian nods, sitting up slightly. “Hi, Jordan.”

“This is Kenny,” he adds, gesturing beside him.

“Yeah, I remember,” Ian says. “This is Mickey.” He doesn’t have to gesture, because he’s still leaning into him, lightly holding his hand.

Jordan nods somewhat awkwardly. “Right on.”

Ian almost belts out a laugh at that. He’s never heard that phrase come out of Jordan’s mouth in all his life. He holds it in, though, and doesn’t reply.

“Well, uh, just thought we should say hi,” Jordan continues after a beat.

“Hi,” says Mickey. “Now, you can fuck off.”

Jordan blinks a few times, expression somewhat astonished, sort of like that guy from that internet meme. Ian cracks a smile.

“Dude, that’s not necessary,” Jordan replies.

“Dude, I don’t give a shit what you think is necessary,” says Mickey. “You said your hellos, now I’m sayin’ the goodbyes. Goodbye.”

Kenny grabs Jordan’s arm as if to pull him away, but he can’t let it go yet. He looks back to Ian. “I’m just trying to be friends here.”

Before Ian can respond, Mickey interjects again. “Well, he don’t need no more friends, asshole. Got plenty of those. Now, fuckin’ fuck off before I get up off this blanket. And trust me, you don’t want that to happen.”

Jordan gives a pedantic kind of snide laugh then. “My boyfriend’s a fucking firefighter, dipshit. He could toss your measly ass twenty feet away.”

Ian meets Kenny’s eyes right after they’ve both finished rolling them, and reaches out to hold Mickey back just as he’s moving to get to his feet.

“Mick, don’t! He’s not worth it. Jordan, fuck off before you start some stupid shit you can’t finish. Pretty sure you know we can’t be friends. That’s all I really have to say about it. I’m happy. Maybe you’re happy, too. Don’t know, don’t care, really. I’m not gonna let my boyfriend kick your ass, because there’s no fucking reason to anymore. And I really just don’t give a shit. Pretty sure your new guy doesn’t want you dragging him into a brawl with the ex, either. That’s just gross.”

Jordan moves to take a step forward, and Leo pushes him back. “I think everything that needed to be said’s been said. Walk away, man.”

Jordan throws his hands up and backpedals, barely paying attention to the fact that Kenny is at least five pissed off steps ahead of him.

“Well that was fucking awkward,” says Leo, chuckling, then joining some friends standing nearby.

Ian looks at Mickey again. “Well, look who ended up being the one to defend my honor after all.”

Mickey’s face cracks a slow smile, and his eyebrows go all high, and he laughs. “Shut the fuck up.”

“I’m swooning, Mick,” Ian says, twisting around so he can fall back into Mickey’s lap. “I just did a full swoon.”

“You’re an idiot.” The look on his face is pure fondness, mirroring how Ian feels inside.

“So are you.”

“Let’s go get a mouth full of meat.”

“I—”

“Later. Right now I need food.”

  


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**MICKEY**

He’s not sure when exactly he asked Ian to move in with him. In fact, he’s pretty sure he never did, but somehow he finds himself with a new roommate who also sleeps in his bed every night. There’s really not even any pretense anymore, since Ian stopped spending any nights back home for show, and half of Mickey’s drawers and closet space has not-so-mysteriously been taken over by stuff that doesn’t belong to him.

The thing is that he doesn’t even care. Or rather, he does, but not in a bad way. Ian’s constant presence and invasion of his personal space doesn’t annoy him at all. He kind of relishes it even. Whenever Ian’s not around, he gets a little anxious. Wishes he were there. _Misses_ him.

They’ve been a thing for over a year now, and Mickey feels somewhat like a different person, but also more like himself than he’s ever been. Because Ian _fits_ with him. It’s like that cheesy thing couples claim about being complimentary puzzle pieces. It’s super lame, but has also made him feel better than he has… pretty much ever. Ian says it’s ‘ _happiness,’_ which, _gross_ , but also, fuck he’s tired of misery.

His dad had raised him to be hard, but now that that asshole was out of the picture, and Mickey had kind of gotten his shit together, he was free to soften up and settle into contentment and stability. He still gets weirded out sometimes when he stops and thinks about how much his life has changed, but he doesn’t let it get to him. Doesn’t let it get between him and the main source of all those good feelings.

Mandy looks at him a lot differently too now. Also weird. She looks at him like she couldn’t be more pleased with him. They still fight all the time and insult each other as much as ever, but it’s like Ian’s presence has also magnified their affection for each other. The whole house has been transformed, both cosmetically and within its DNA. It isn’t fucking Terry’s house anymore.

Part of him even kinda wants to rub it in the old fucker’s face. Maybe go visit him for once, just so he could graphically describe all the gay sex acts he gets up to with Ian underneath the roof he was raised in. He’d kill to see the look on his ugly mug. Hell, he could probably get him riled up enough to get violent and tack even more time onto his sentence. A bonus ‘fuck you.’ But, he also doesn’t wanna risk anything dampening his mood. Doesn’t want some guy on the outside coming after him or Ian on Terry’s behalf. It’s better to just let sleeping dogs lie. He could revel in his good fortune, and that could be enough revenge for now.

“I can’t believe you let him drag you to that weirdo Garbage Gala,” Mandy tells Ian, making a face.

They’d just come home from Mickey’s annual workplace Christmas event he only ever goes to for the free food and booze. They’re wearing somewhat ill-fitting suits, glassy-eyed from drinking too much as they were bored out of their skulls and consistently weirded out by older people with zero inhibitions.

“It’s the Garbageman’s Ball, cuntface,” Mickey corrects. It wasn’t the official name or anything, but it’s what they all called it.

Ian snickers. “He came with me to my work thing a couple months ago. I had go to this one with him.”

Mandy sneers. “God, I am so glad I’m single, if only to never be coerced into uncomfortable social gatherings.”

Mickey reaches over and twists her nipple, so she lets out a primal scream, and punches him three consecutive times on the upper arm.

Ian winces at the display. “It was mostly just cheesy geriatric Christmas shit,” he tells her. “The band was somehow both incredible and awful at the same time.”

Mickey rubs his arm and nods his head. “Yeah, it was like bein’ at an uncomfortable high school reunion or somethin’. Like a middle-aged prom with some Rat Pack knock-offs playin’ in the background.”

“At least it was at the nice community center on the West Side, and not the one down the block,” says Ian.

“We got drunk for free, ate fresh lobster, _and_ we won a fuckin’ raffle prize,” Mickey replies. “Steak dinner for two at a fancy-ass place on the River Walk. Boom.”

“Makes all the freaks we had to put up with worth it,” Ian agrees.

“Explain,” says Mandy.

Mickey leaves Ian to tell her all about the 60-year-old lady who hit on him, her 70-year-old husband who also hit on him, the large group of straights they had been forced to explain their relationship to, since hardly anyone knew that Mickey was gay, and the general surreal vibe of being trapped in some kind of _Twin Peaks_ time warp for the three hours they’d endured at the horrific pre-holiday season party. He changes out of the shitty suit that usually collects dust in the back of his closet, and into his normal house clothes and slippers.

“Ew,” he hears Mandy as he approaches. He’d taken his time in the bathroom and indulged in a few hits off his pipe before returning. “That’s so gross. He works with some of the biggest freaks imaginable.”

“You’d think this bitch was upper North Side the way she talks about people these days,” says Mickey, flopping back down on the nicer couch they now have.

“Alright,” Ian intervenes before a comeback can fly out of Mandy’s open mouth, “enough bickering for tonight. What do you want for Christmas anyway?” He’s looking past Mickey, at his stupid sister.

“Me?” she says, shrugging. “Hadn’t thought about it. We don’t really celebrate Christmas over here.”

“Fuck that!” booms Ian, decisively. “We’re gonna do it up this year.”

Mickey and Mandy both sigh and roll their eyes, sinking back into their seats.

“That ain’t us, man,” he informs his overenthusiastic boyfriend.

“Listen, you fucking Grinch,” Ian threatens, physically pulling him forward by his tee shirt, “I said we’re celebrating here this year, and that’s what we’re gonna do. And you, _and you_ ,” he directs toward Mandy, “are gonna fucking like it, and we’re gonna have fun.” He let’s go of Mickey’s collar. “Okay?”

“Ain’t your sister gonna have your ass if you don’t do the holidays with them at the house?” he asks.

“I can have two Christmases, Mick. People do it all the time. Two, three, sometimes more. You’re coming with me to Fiona’s too.”

Mandy cackles.

“And so are you,” adds Ian, pointedly eyeing her again.

Mickey chortles at the instantly sobered expression on her face.

“So, lemme ask you again. What do you want for Christmas?”

Mickey nearly panics as Ian revamps the Milkovich household’s holiday atmosphere until something akin to cheerfulness seems to have exploded in the living room. He walks in one day, and there’s a tree. The next day, there’re lights. The next day, ornaments. And then wrapped gifts start appearing, and cards from co-workers litter the landscape.

It’s a living nightmare.

“And we’re gonna watch Christmas movies too,” Ian randomly says one night, a week before the day itself was to arrive.

Mickey scowls along with Mandy as she beats him to the punch in yelling her disgust. “Stop shoving your stupid bullshit down our throats!”

Ian just smiles. “We’ll watch the irreverent ones. I’ll even throw in a horror movie too, like Black Christmas or something.”

“You know, this used to be _our_ fucking house!” she grouses, standing from her chair and glaring at both of them. “I don’t know how a fucking _Gallagher_ became Head of Household, but you better not try to use me as a fucking tax write-off, you fucker!”

She storms off, and Mickey thinks it’s probably the lamest comeback he’s ever heard her make, but it’s probably because she secretly loves this shit. Just likes to put up a fight same as Mickey.

“You gonna yell at me too?” asks Ian nonchalantly.

“I… really don’t care anymore, man. You’ve officially worn me down. Just make yourself useful and roll me a joint before you make me watch some Santa Clause bullshit, alright?”

Ian snickers. “I’ll let you pick the flick.”

Quicker than the weed is sparked, Mandy conveniently reappears, tossing a stack of magazines at Ian’s lap and curling back up in her chair with a blanket. “I’ve got some shit circled and bookmarked in there.”

Ian grins brightly as she flips him off and reaches for the joint.

Christmas ends up being… _pleasant_. Ian buys Mandy a bunch of make-up, clothes, and accessories, both on his and Mickey’s behalf, because no way was he shopping for gifts. Mandy buys Ian a random assortment of movies, video games, and weapons, also on both their behalves. Mickey gets a new electric guitar and various bottles of brown-colored liquors. Even their time at the Gallagher’s isn’t so bad. Ian’s younger siblings seem to like him more than the older ones do, so he sort of just hangs out with them all day, playing video games and talking shit. He’s pretty sure Mandy fucked Ian’s douchey older brother, Lip, when they both conspicuously disappeared for over an hour, but he can’t really begrudge her getting some holiday dick. Mickey certainly did.

He pleads with Ian not to drag him out on New Year’s Eve. Begs for them to stay home, and get drunk, and shoot bottle rockets off in the backyard when the clock strikes 12. But no.

“We have to be out and about, Mick! It’s no fun otherwise. We need to start the year off right.”

Mickey sighs heavily, running a hand down his face. “Fucking… fine! But we ain’t goin’ anywhere fancy, and we ain’t meetin’ up with a buncha clowns I barely know. Just the two of us. Somewhere simple.”

They end up at the Violet Crown again, hustling their way through the throng to battle for a spot at the bar where they can at least yell at Mandy a little here and there.

“So, Mick,” begins Ian, half-hollering over the din. “We made it! Another year of our lives has gone by, and we were together for all of it.”

Mickey nods vaguely, trying to get Mandy’s attention so he can get a drink.

“Don’t you think that’s pretty incredible?” Ian questions, leaning in closer to his ear. “Considering we started out hating each other and all.”

Mickey turns toward him then. “I don’t think you ever hated me,” he says boldly.

Ian’s eyes widen, face painted with disbelief. “Is that right?”

“Mmhmm.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Just a wild guess. I mean, I never hated you.”

Ian’s eyes go even bigger. “You did a pretty good job pretending that you did.”

“Nah. Made some assumptions about you at first, and you smashed ‘em pretty quick. Besides… couldn’t really hate that mug, now could I?”

Ian’s mouth forms a huge grin and he leans in to kiss Mickey chastely. “I may have hated you a little, but I also couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Mickey shrugs. “At least I made some kinda impression.”

Ian laughs. “You definitely did that.” He kisses him again, looking him right in the eye, with no reservations. “I love you.”

They’ve both kind of implied it before; casually alluded to it in moments of pure _them_ -ness, but it’s never really been spoken aloud quite like that. Like a declaration. Mickey always thought he’d be afraid when it finally happened. That he’d freeze up and not be able to go through with it, even though he’s known it’s true for a long time now. Ian loves him, and Mickey loves him back. That’s just the truth. It’s the way things are. So it seems pretty stupid not to just own it.

“I love you too,” he says firmly, completely sure of himself.

And they’re kissing again.

Once they’ve tamed themselves, they both turn back to the bar, and Mickey finally flags his sister down for alcohol. He overhears some lady strike up a conversation with Ian.

“How’d you two meet?” she asks him.

There’s a brief pause, then Ian explains, “We went on a really bad date.”

 

 

  
*******  


**The End**

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, leaving kudos, and writing any kind of comment at all.  
> [Me Tumblah Page](http://thevioletjones.tumblr.com/)


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